Randolph," he said, "were you ever as young as me?" And Randolph said: "I was never so old.

But we are alone, darling child, terribly, isolated each from the other; so fierce is the world's ridicule we cannot speak or show our tenderness; for us, death is stronger than life, it pulls like a wind through the dark, all our cries burlesqued in joyless laughter; and with the garbage of loneliness stuffed down us until our guts burst bleeding green, we go screaming round the world, dying in our rented rooms, nightmare hotels, eternal homes of the transient heart.

June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

When I am writing, I try to do it five hours a day but I spend about two of those just fooling around.

Champagne does have one regular drawback: swilled as a regular thing a certain sourness settles in the tummy, and the result is permanent bad breath. Really incurable.

I don't mean I'd mind being rich and famous. That's very much on my schedule and someday I'll try to get around to it.

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