They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret: what a subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world: where then could we look for reassurance of our identities?

I loved her enough to forget myself, my self pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen.

I am a completely horizontal author. I can't think unless I'm lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch.

would you reach in the drawer there and give me my purse. A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick.

Maybe the older you grow and the less easy it is to put thought into action, maybe that’s why it gets all locked up in your head and becomes a burden.

...of all things this was the saddest, that life goes on: if one leaves one's lover, life should stop for him, and if one disappears from the world, then the world should stop, too: and it never did. And that was the real reason for most people getting up in the morning: not because it would matter but because it wouldn't.

That's all a writer has to write about - what he sees and hears and what not.