The novelist ... must live in paranoia and seek to be one with the world; he must be terrified of experience and hungry for it; he must think himself nothing and believe he is superior to all.
You never do find out what makes you tick, and after a while it's unimportant.
I guess all that's left is to love the fire.
Somewhere, something incredible happened in history - the wrong guys won.
Culture is worth a little risk.
With the pride of the artist, you must blow against the walls of every power that exists the small trumpet of your defiance.