The act of writing requires a constant plunging back into the shadow of the past where time hovers ghostlike.

If the word has the potency to revive and make us free, it has also the power to bind, imprison and destroy.

Words are your business, boy. Not just the word. Words are everything. The key to the rock, the answer to the question.

It is sometimes advantageous to be unseen, although it is most often rather wearing on the nerves.

Perhaps to lose a sense of where you are implies the danger of losing a sense of who you are.

We don't all dig Shakespeare uniformly, or even 'Little Red Riding Hood.' The understanding of art depends finally upon one's willingness to extend one's humanity and one's knowledge of human life.

It goes a long way back, some twenty years. All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naive. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself. But first I had to discover that I am an invisible man!