I am still raw. I say I may be back. You know what lies are for. Even in your Zen heaven we shan't meet.

At this rate, I'd be lucky if I wrote a page a day. Then I knew what the problem was. I needed experience. How could I write about life when I'd never had a love affair or a baby or even seen anybody die? A girl I knew had just won a prize for a short story about her adventures among the pygmies in Africa. How could I compete with that sort of thing?

I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated.

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.

I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

The artist's life nourishes itself on the particular, the concrete.

I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.