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It is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself.

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If only it were possible to love without injury – fidelity isn’t enough: I had been faithful to Anne and yet I had injured her. The hurt is in the act...more

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Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the p...more

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Despair is the price one pays for setting oneself an impossible aim. It is, one is told, the unforgivable sin, but it is a sin the corrupt or evil man...more

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I have no talent; it's just a question of working, of being willing to put in the time.

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We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.

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It is the storyteller's task to elicit sympathy and a measure of understanding for those who lie outside the boundaries of State approval.

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I recognized my work for what it was--as unimportant a drug as cigarettes to get one through the weeks and years. If we are extinguished by death, as ...more

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So much in writing depends on the superficiality of one's days. One may be preoccupied with shopping and income tax returns and chance conversations, ...more

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As long as one suffers one lives.

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A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.

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We are all resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.

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Of two hearts one is always warm and one is always cold: the cold heart is more precious than diamonds: the warm heart has no value and is thrown away...more

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He gave her a bright fake smile; so much of life was a putting off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing was ever lost by delay. He had a dim idea ...more

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Nothing in life was as ugly as death.