To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the inner music that words make.

The enemy was anyone who was someone he wanted to be or who had anything he wanted to have.

If you weren't here, if you could be anywhere you wanted to be, doing anything you wanted to do, where would you be and what would you be doing?

All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It's like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of art, provide it springs from a sincere motivation to further understanding between people, is an act of faith and therefore is an act of love.

Brazil was beastly but Buenos Aires the best. Not Tiffany's, but almost.

I feel that all a writer has is his own experience.

Gasping for breath, the body still battling for life.