I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

She won't give him back his look.

Then I said something. I said, Suppose, just suppose, nothing had ever happened. Suppose this was for the first time. Just suppose. It doesn't hurt to suppose. Say none of the other had ever happened. You know what I mean? Then what? I said.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.

There are significant moments in everyone's day that can make literature. That's what you ought to write about.

It's strange. You never start out life with the intention of becoming a bankrupt or an alcoholic or a cheat and a thief. Or a liar.

Every great or even every very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications.