If I dreamt this, while walking, walking in the London streets, the subconscious of each and every other life, past and present, brushing me in passing, what makes it real? Writing it down.

what a writer does is to try to make sense of life. I think that's what writing is, I think that's what painting is. It's seeking that thread of order and logic in the disorder, and the incredible waste and marvelous profligate character of life. What all artists are trying to do is to make sense of life.

Perhaps the best way to write is to do so as if one were already dead, afraid of no one's reactions, answerable to no one's views.

Everyone ends up moving alone towards the self

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

I have learned since that sometimes the things we want most are impossible for us. You may long to come home, yet wander forever.

Writing is making sense of life.