The particular qualities and intentions of photographs tend to be swallowed up in the generalized pathos of time past.

In a lot of writing or intellectual discourse we're starting to use that model: "Oh, this is where it comes from!" I would like to concentrate on work which is more resistant to that procedure, as I think fiction is.

A man never forgets his body the way a woman does, because a man is pushing his body, a part of his body, forward, to make the act of love happen. He brings the jut of his body into the act of love, then takes it back, when it has had its way.

One set of messages of the society we live in is: Consume. Grow. Do what you want. Amuse yourselves.

His view of time, and of change, has become that of most elderly people: he hates change, since for him - for his body - any change is for the worse. And if there is to be change, then he wants it to happen quickly, so it does not use up too much of the time remaining to him.

People tend to become cynical about even the most appalling crisis if it seems to be dragging on, failing to come to term.

Most people in this society who aren't actively mad are, at best, reformed or potential lunatics.