Let's face it: I'm scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess, I'm afraid for myself...the old primitive urge for survival. It's getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity.

The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of stories, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.

What have I eaten? Lies and smiles.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it.

If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.

You ask me why I spend my life writing? Do I find entertainment? Is it worthwhile? Above all, does it pay? If not, then, is there a reason?... I write only because there is a voice within me. That will not be still.