[T]he army of wrongness rampant in the world might as well march over me.

One of the most difficult things in writing a novel or anything at all is to choose the point of view from which it's going to be told.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

I want to still be me when I wake up one fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffany´s.

I've never been a teacher in my life.

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.

To wake up one morning and feel that I was a last a grown-up person, emptied of resentment, vengeful thoughts and other wasteful childish emotions. To find myself, in other words, an adult. Truman Capote