Sunday is the day people go quietly mad, one way or another.

The mad also laugh, or is that what Freud and the others discovered perhaps, that only the mad laugh?

All I can do is write my stories for mankind, and rest easy.

I used to throw things out, saying, 'This isn't great.' It didn't occur to me that it didn't have to be great.

San Francisco itself is art, above all literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel. Every home a poem, every dweller within immortal. That is the whole truth.

If you give to a thief he cannot steal from you, and he is no longer a thief.

My work has always been the product of my time.