The first thing that distinguishes a writer is that he is most alive when alone.

He was an artist when he saw society: it never crossed his mind that society had to be like this; had any right, had any business being like this. A car in the street. Why? Why cars? This is what an artist has to be: harassed to the point of insanity or stupefaction by first principles.

Mere fact has no chance of being formally perfect. It will get in the way, it will be all elbows.

It is quite an achievement. People of liberal sympathies, stupefied by relativism, have become the apologists for a creedal wave that is racist, misogynist, homophobic, imperialist, and genocidal. To put it another way, they are up the arse of those that want them dead.

I think a lot of people who read fiction are interested in subtlety. But they wouldn't like my stuff. It's a bit too violent for many tastes.

America still is the center of the world, and what happens in the American economy matters everywhere.

Love might have expanded her. But we are not all of us going to get loved. We are not all of us going to get expanded.