A man should know about himself two or three things: whether he is a coward; whether he is an honest man or given to lies; whether he is an ambitious man. One should define oneself first of all in those terms, and only then in terms of culture, race, creed.

I don't have principles. I have nerves.

Twentieth-century Russian literature has produced nothing special except perhaps one novel and two stories by Andrei Platonov, who ended his days sweeping streets.

Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse

I am quite prepared to die here [in NY]. It doesn't matter at all. I don't know better places, or perhaps if I do I am not prepared to make a move.

When I'm not writing or reading, I'm thinking about both.

If they had wanted to punish me, they should have kept me in a communal apartment. Then I would have become a wreck.