Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.

Most contemporary novelists, especially the American and the French, are too subjective, mesmerized by private demons; theyre enraptured by their navels and confined by a view that ends with their own toes.

You don't run out on people; you run out on yourself.

Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle.

All artists are two-headed calves.

I haven't anything against whores, except this: some of them may have an honest tongue but they all have dishonest hearts.

There's lots of things you don't know. All kinds of strange things . . . mostly they happened before we were born: that makes them seem to me so much more real.