A novel is balanced between a few true impressions and the multitude of false ones that make up most of what we call life.

Writers are greatly respected. The intelligent public is wonderfully patient with them, continues to read them, and endures disappointment after disappointment, waiting to hear from art what it does not hear from theology, philosophy, social theory, and what it cannot hear from pure science. Out of the struggle at the center has come an immense, painful longing for a broader, more flexible, fuller, more coherent, more comprehensive account of what we human beings are, who we are and what this life is for.

California is like an artificial limb the rest of the country doesn't really need. You can quote me on that.

What Homo sapien imagines, he may slowly convert himself to.

Readiness to answer all questions is the infallible sign of stupidity.

I am deeply moved when I write. I get turned on by it. I've never used any drugs for stimulation. I don't use words loosely. When I'm working and the right word comes, there is an answering resonance within me. There is also a hardness of intention that goes with it. There is no idleness in it.

We are funny creatures. We don't see the stars as they are, so why do we love them? They are not small gold objects, but endless fire.