It wasn't a question of deceit. Just the opposite; he wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt.

I'm not dead. But when I am, it's likeI don't know, I guess it's like being inside a book that nobody's reading.

Writing doesn’t get easier with experience. The more you know, the harder it is to write.

Certain blood was being shed for uncertain reasons.

It's not just the embarrassment of tears. That's part of it, no doubt, but what embarrasses me much more, and always will, is the paralysis that took my heart. A moral freeze: I couldn't decide, I couldn't act, I couldn't comport myself with even a pretense of modest human dignity.

We are fascinated, all of us, by the implacable otherness of others. And we wish to penetrate by hypothesis, by daydream, by scientific investigation those leaden walls that encase the human spirit, that define it and guard it and hold it forever inaccessible.

Everyone acts stupid at some time in order to be loved.