The peculiar dignity of men seen eating alone in restaurants on national holidays
Writing is an exercise in sculpture, chipping away at the rock until you find the nose.
Life's tallest order is to keep the feelings up, to make two dollars' worth of euphoria go the distance. And life can't do that. So fiction does.
I would never write about anyone who is not at the end of his rope.
The furthest out is the only place to be.
But it's hard to talk about art. Maybe there should be a law against it, some First Amendment gag order like crying fire in a crowded theater.