Well, I'm like a drug addict, I'm always saying I'm going to stop, and then I don't, what I've said consistently is that I hope I know when to stop: when it starts to get repetitive.

The act of writing itself is done in secret, like masturbation.

What I'm saying is that I'm trying to find rational reasons to explain irrational feelings, and that's neveer a good sign.

Let’s talk, you and I. Let’s talk about fear. The house is empty as I write this; a cold February rain is falling outside. It’s night. Sometimes when the wind blows the way it’s blowing now, we lose the power. But for now it’s on, and so let’s talk very honestly about fear. Let’s talk very rationally about moving to the rim of madnessand... and perhaps over the edge.

American grammar doesn't have the sturdiness of British grammar, but it has its own scruffy charm.

Dolls with no little girls around to mind them were sort of creepy under any conditions.

Shall there be truth between us, as two men? Not as friends, but as enemies and equals?