When you live alone, your furnishings, your possessions, are always confronting you with the thinness of your existence.

I don't write books for people to be friends with the characters. If you want to find friends, go to a cocktail party.

When you live alone, your furnishings, your possessions, are always confronting you with the thinness of your existence.

I'm a child in that respect: able to live, physically speaking, on a crumb of anticipation for weeks at a time, but always in danger of crushing the waited-for event with the freight of my excessive hope.

For most people, honesty is such an unusual departure from their standard modus operandi - such an abherration in their workaday mendacity - that they feel obliged to alert you when a moment of sincerity is coming on.

Always mind the distance between your dreams and your reality.

Somewhere between sanity and madness lays a fine line, for some it is a tightrope walked daily, a fight for balance to be won or lost. That fight is lost one of two ways. Some simply lose their balance and fall, others are pushed.