My Novels Are All Ideas.

Depressive Lucidity, Usually Described As A Radical Withdrawal From Ordinary Human Concerns, Generally Manifests Itself By A Profound Indifference To Things Which Are Genuinely Of Minor Interest. Thus It Is Possible To Imagine A Depressed Lover, While The Idea Of A Depressed Patriot Seems Frankly Inconceivable.

I Think That If Writers Don't Speak About Real Life, It's Because They Don't Know It.

The Love Of A Dog Is A Pure Thing. He Gives You A Trust Which Is Total. You Must Not Betray It.

This Progressive Effacement Of Human Relationships Is Not Without Certain Problems For The Novel. How, In Point Of Fact, Would One Handle The Narration Of Those Unbridled Passions, Stretching Over Many Years, And At Times Making Their Effect Felt On Several Generations? We’re A Long Way From Wuthering Heights, To Say The Least. The Novel Form Is Not Conceived For Depicting Indifference Or Nothingness; A Flatter, More Terse, And Dreary Discourse Would Need To Be Invented.

The Press May Hate Me, And I Know My Battles With Them Are Not Over, But That Doesn't Matter.