All fiction is largely autobiographical and much autobiography is, of course, fiction.

People were excited by violence. What, after all, was the sexual act but a voluntarily endured assault, a momentary death?

I find it extraordinary that a straightforward if inelegant device for ensuring the survival of the species should involve human beings in such emotional turmoil. Does sex have to be taken so seriously?

Authors always take rejection badly. They equate it with infanticide.

We can experience nothing but the present moment, live in no other second of time, and to understand this is as close as we can get to eternal life.

We are often more merciful to our animals than we are to each other.

It is difficult to be generous-minded to those we have greatly harmed.