I gave up writing blurbs because you make one friend and 200 enemies.

I used to be fond of Indian arm wrestling.

I never met anybody in my life who says, I want to be a critic. People want to be a fireman, poet, novelist.

When all of us are forgotten, people will still be remembering Stephen King.

There is a place in men's lives where pictures do in fact bleed, ghosts gibber and shriek, maidens run forever through mysterious landscapes from nameless foes; that place is, of course, the world of dreams and of the repressed guilts and fears that motivate them [i.e., the unconscious]. This world the dogmatic optimism and shallow psychology of the Age of Reason had denied; and yet this world it is the final, perhaps the essential, purpose of the gothic romance to assert.

Foucault was the one person I met in France that I could talk to. He was a mensch. You know whether you agree with him or not because you know what he is saying.

Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.