(From the story The Last Days of a Famous Mime) He said nothing. He was mildly annoyed at her presumption: that he had not thought this many, many times before. With perfect misunderstanding she interpreted his passivity as disdain. Wishing to hurt him, she slapped his face. Wishing to hurt her, he smiled brilliantly.

You could not tell a story like this. A story like this you could only feel.

Swimming always cleans your soul

It's true: one of the things that I've always thought about American society is that you never get the sort of natural politicisation of class consciousness that you would get in the United Kingdom or even in Australia.

My greatest pleasure is to invent. My continual mad ambition is to make something true and beautiful that never existed in the world before.

Good writing of course requires talent, and no one can teach you to have talent.

I did not know that history is like a blood stain that keeps on showing on the wall no matter how many new owners take possession, no matter how many times we pint over it.