I knew words were like chains, they held me back . . . the act of description taints the description.

Duty largely consists of pretending that the trivial is critical.

These last few days I've felt Godless. I've felt cleaner, less muddled, less blind. I still believe in a God. But he's so remote, so cold, so mathematical. I see that we have to live as if there is no God. Prayer and worship and singing hymns-all silly and useless.

Most marriages recognize this paradox: Passion destroys passion; we want what puts an end to wanting what we want.

I have a strange illusion quite often. I think I've become deaf. I have to make a little noise to prove I'm not. I clear my throat to show myself that everything is normal. It's like the little Japanese girl they found in the ruins of Hiroshima. Everything dead; and she was singing to her doll.

All novelists should live in two different worlds: a real one and an unreal one.

There are only two races on this planet - the intelligent and the stupid.