I mean it's the writing, not the being read, that excites me.

People ask me why I write. I write to find out what I know.

A masterpiece is something said once and for all, stated, finished, so that it's there complete in the mind, if only at the back.

I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.

What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.

The world is crammed with delightful things

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.