I had inadvertently walked through a door that I shouldn’t have gone through and couldn’t get back to the place I hadn’t meant to leave.

If I had had to write only about imaginary people, I would have had to close up my typewriter. I wrote about my life in less and less disguise as I grew older, and finally with no disguise - except the disguise we create for ourselves, which is self-deception.

In talking about the past, we lie with every breath we draw.

Reading is rapture (or if it isn't, I put the book down meaning to go on with it later, and escape out the side door).

If you turn the imagination loose like a hunting dog, it will often return with the bird in its mouth.

My younger daughter told me recently that when she was a child she thought the typewriter was a toy that I went into my room and closed the door and played with.

What we refer to confidently as memory is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling.