I do what I want to do. It was a brash statement of(her)girlhood. Now she was an adult, the boast seemed quaint. For rarely do you know what you want. Even after you've done it you can't say clearly if that was what you'd wanted or just something that happened to you, like weather.

Art is about freedom of expression, and should not be molded to fit any propaganda or lofty ideal.

The heavenly light you admire is fossil-light, it's the unfathomably distant past you gaze into, stars long extinct

That is the mystery: Reading Henry James can yield prose that is contrary to James, yet inspired by him. Who can understand this?

All that matters in life is forging deep ties of love and family and friends. Writing and reading come later.

What does it mean to be born? After we die, will it be the same thing as it was before we were born? Or a different kind of nothingness? Because there might be knowledge then. Memory.

For madness must be punished in a world in which mere sanity is prized. The revenge of the ordinary upon the gifted.