Your trouble is, you keep trying to unscrew the unscrutable.

Me and Norman Mailer have talked about how hard it is in America to get better. Especially at writing.

Like a cartoon world, where the figures are flat and outlined in black, jerking through some kind of goofy story that might be real funny if it weren't for the cartoon figures being real guys.

There's a lot of people who don't understand the circle crops in England. Pure enigma.

The job of the writer is to kiss no ass, no matter how big and holy and white and tempting and powerful.

When we first broke into that forbidden box in the other dimension, we knew we had discovered something as surprising and powerful as the New World when Columbus came stumbling onto it.

He's got hands so long and white and dainty I think they carved each other out of soap, and sometimes they get loose and glide around in front of him free as two white birds until he notices them and traps them between his knees; it bothers him that he's got pretty hands.