Real art has the capacity to make us nervous.

Remember when you hear yourself saying one day that you don't have time anymore to read or listen to music or look at paintings or go to the movies or do whatever feeds your head now. Then you're getting old. That means they got you, after all.

Writing is a mysterious activity.

A fiction about soft or easy deaths is part of the mythology of most diseases that are not considered shameful or demeaning.

The history of art is a sequence of successful transgressions.

The felt unreliability of human experience brought about by the inhuman acceleration of historical change has led every sensitive modern mind to the recording of some kind of nausea, of intellectual vertigo.

Intelligence is really a kind of taste: taste in ideas.