England has the most sordid literary scene I've ever seen. They all meet in the same pub. This guy's writing a foreword for this person. They all have to give radio programs, they have to do all this just in order to scrape by. They're all scratching each other's backs.

There are no innocent bystanders ... what are they doing there in the first place?

How long does it take man to realize that he cannot want what he wants? You have to live in hell to see heaven.

My relationship with cats has saved me from a deadly and pervasive ignorance.

Revolution in America begins in books and music, then waits for political operatives to 'implement changes after the fact.'

I'm creating an imaginary — it's always imaginary — world in which I would like to live.

I detest limitations of any kind, and intend to establish my ass some place where I am a virgin on the police blotter.