I like to talk on TV about those things that aren't worth writing about.

Half the people who snuff people, that's what they want: recognition. Get their picture in the paper.

I will say only that all a writer has to work with is the material he has gathered as the result of his own endeavor and observations, and he cannot be denied the right to use it. Condemn, but not deny.

New York is the only real city-city.

I was eleven, then I was sixteen. Though no honors came my way, those were the lovely years.

But mostly they were lies I told; it wasn't my fault, I couldn't remember, because it was as though I'd been to one of those supernatural castles visited by characters in legends: once away, you do not remember, all that is left is the ghostly echo of haunting wonder.

Love should be allowed. I’m all for it. Now that I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is.