I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

It's healthy to say uncle when your bone's about to break.

I look at my father, who was in many ways an unhappy person, but who, not long before he got sick, said that the greatest source of satisfaction in his life had been going to work in the company of other workers.

I used to think it was hard to write, and I still find the process more or less unpleasant, but if I know what I'm doing it rattles along, then the rewrite whips it into shape rather quickly.

Imagine that human existence is defined by an Ache: the Ache of our not being, each of us, the center of the universe; of our desires forever outnumbering our means of satisfying them.

Use well thy freedom.

For every reader who dies today, a viewer is born, and we seem to be witnessing . . . the final tipping balance.