Yet the fact had no consciousness of itself except through me.

The domestic lives we live - which may be accidental, or not entirely of our making - help to make possible our writing lives; our imaginations are freed, or stimulated, by the very prospect of companionship, quiet, a predictable and consoling routine.

Was it confusing because it was artistic, or artistic because it was confusing?

I have beliefs, of course, like everyone-but I don't always believe in them.

Loneliness is like starvation: you don't realize how hungry you are until you begin to eat.

People might be surprised to know how much I throw away. For every page I publish, I throw 10 pages away.

The folly of war is that it can have no natural end except in the extinction an entire people.