Sick in my soul I tried to face the ordeal of seeking forgiveness. From whom? What God, what Christ? They were myths I once believed and now they were beliefs I felt were myths.

Literary criticism is generally bunk. Nonsense. Usually based on self-serving post-intellectual bullshit.

Almighty God, I am sorry I am now an atheist, but have You read Nietzsche?

I have wanted women whose very shoes are worth all I have ever possessed.

One night I was sitting on the bed in my hotel room on Buker Hill, down in the middle of Los Angeles. It was an important night in my life, because I had to make a decision about the hotel. Either I paid up or I got out: that was what the note said, the note the landlady had put under my door. A great problem, deserving acute attention. I solved it by turning out the lights and going to bed.

Like my father, I am very impatient. I have a strong bullshit detector. I may finish one book in twenty that I have started.

Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town!