I have an instinct for survival, for self-preservation.

The more you learn, the less you fear.

Is any novelist going to recognize the moment when he or she has nothing more to say? It is a brave thing to admit. And since as a professional writer you are full of anxiety anyway, you could easily misread the signs.

Very few of my characters are based on people I've known. It is too constricting.

Does character develop over time? In novels, of course it does: otherwise there wouldn't be much of a story. But in life? I sometimes wonder. Our attitudes and opinions change, we develop new habits and eccentricities; but that's something different, more like decoration. Perhaps character resembles intelligence, except that character peaks a little later: between twenty and thirty, say. And after that, we're just stuck with what we've got. We're on our own. If so, that would explain a lot of lives, wouldn't it? And also - if this isn't too grand a word - our tragedy.

Had my life increased, or merely added to itself? There had been addition and subtraction in my life, but how much multiplication?

To be stupid, and selfish, and to have good health are the three requirements for happiness.