I was never more hated than when I tried to be honest. Or when, even as just now I've tried to articulate exactly what I felt to be the truth. No one was satisfied

Having tried to give pattern to the chaos which lives within the pattern of your certainties, I must come out, I must emerge.

Good fiction is made of that which is real, and reality is difficult to come by.

When I discover who I am, I'll be free.

America is woven of many strands. I would recognize them and let it so remain.

The blues is an art of ambiguity, an assertion of the irrepressibly human over all circumstance whether created by others or by one's own human failings. They are the only consistent art in the United States which constantly remind us of our limitations while encouraging us to see how far we can actually go. When understood in their more profound implication, they are a corrective, an attempt to draw a line upon man's own limitless assertion.

...and yet I am what they think I am.