Is there nothing I have done which will outlive me, other than the opprobrium of my first wife and sons and grandchildren? Do I care? Doesn't everybody? Poor me. Poor practically everybody, with so little durable good to leave behind!

The arts are not a way to make a living.

Freud said he didn't know what women wanted. I know what women want. They want a whole lot of people to talk to.

I could go on to speak of sanity as compared with insanity, decency as compared with vandalism, friendship as compared with rabies.

Think of what a paradise this world would be if men were kind and wise.

Swoopers write a story quickly, higgledy-piggledy, crinkum-crankum, any which way. Then they go over it again painstakingly, fixing everything that is just plain awful or doesn’t work. Bashers go one sentence at a time, getting it exactly right before they go on to the next one. When they’re done they’re done.

Sometimes I think it is a great mistake to have matter that can think and feel. It complains so.