We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.

An idea is like a rare bird which cannot be seen. What one sees is the trembling of the branch it has just left.

For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination.

Religion is simply art bastardized out of all recognition.

It takes a lot of energy and a lot of neurosis to write a novel. If you were really sensible, you'd do something else.

I see artists as a great battalion moving through paint, words, music towards cosmological interpretation.

Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.