In the experience of art, time seems not to exist. When I'm writing and think, "I've been working for two hours," I've actually been working for seven.

There is a point beyond which conciliation looks like capitulation. I do not believe I passed that point, but others have thought otherwise.

To see things plainly, you have to cross a frontier.

Nobody ever recognizes themselves unless they are not the character. There are many people who have claimed to be in my books, but unfortunately they were usually people that I didn't know.

Reality is a question of perspective.

Only the foolish, blinded by language's conventions, think of fire as red or gold. Fire is blue at it's melancholy rim, green in it's envious heart. It may burn white, or even, in it's greatest rages, black.

Sometimes, people trying to commit suicide manage it in a manner that leaves them breathless with astonishment.