Write a thousand words a day and in three years you'll be a writer!

Everything is generated through your own will power.

I’m the thing you most desire, you represent the thing I least desire, death. It’s just the opposite of love.

There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running about with lit matches. Every minority, be it Baptist/Unitarian, Irish/Italian/Octogenarian/Zen Buddhist, Zionist/Seventh-day Adventist, Women's Lib/Republican, Mattachine/FourSquareGospel feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse. Every dimwit editor who sees himself as the source of all dreary blanc-mange plain porridge unleavened literature, licks his guillotine and eyes the neck of any author who dares to speak above a whisper or write above a nursery rhyme.

The Universe has shouted itself alive. We are one of the shouts.

The Internet is a big distraction. It's distracting, it's meaningless; it's not real. It's in the air somewhere.

The world, like a great iris of an even more gigantic eye, which has also just opened and stretched out to encompass everything, stared back at him.