I had discovered a terrible vulnerability I myself which I think of not as cowardliness but as an ability to imagine too much.

They knew bullshit, and they knew about the ruling class; dying for a ruling class cause was almost always bullshit.

Writing is a funny business. You sit in your room and listen to voices and write everything down. What kind of a profession is that?

We tell stories to talk out the trouble in our lives, trouble otherwise so often so unspeakable. It is one of our main ways of making our lives sensible. Trying to live without stories can make us crazy. They help us recognize what we believe to be most valuable in the world, and help us identify what we hold demonic.

I had discovered a terrible vulnerability I myself which I think of not as cowardliness but as an ability to imagine too much.

A man ... needs to get out in the open air and sweat and blow off the stink.

Our old pilgrims believed stories in which the West was a promise, a place where decent people could escape the wreckage of failed lives and start over. Come along, the dream whispers, and you can have another chance. We still listen to promises in the wind. This time, we think, we’ll get it right.