If you live in Europe . . . things change . . . but continuity never seems to break. You don't have to throw the past away.

Any writer of any worth at all hopes to play only a pocket-torch of light - and rarely, through genius, a sudden flambeau - into the bloody yet beautiful labyrinth of human experience, of being.

Rebirth. I mean by this simply what happens when the child begins to realise the fact that the black does not enter through the white’s front door is not in the same category as the fact that the dead will never come back.

The creative act is not pure. History evidences it. Sociology extracts it. The writer loses Eden, writes to be read and comes to realize that he is answerable.

Nothing factual that I write or say will be as truthful as my fiction.

You can't be afraid to do good in case evil results.

It's absolutely fatal to your writing to think about how your work will be received. It's a betrayal of whatever talent you have.