The Nowness Of Everything Is

Therapy, As Opposed To Analysis, Is A Whole Construct Of Myth, Beautiful And Creative.

There's No End To The Inventiveness Of Critics, I Tell You. Because They Can't Write Fiction, They Put Their Impulse Into Their Analysis Of Work.

To Love It Too Much Is To Obscure And Not See What Is There.

I Haven't Had A Single Moment Of Terror Since They Told Me [i Was Dying]. My Only Regret Is To Die Four Pages Too Soon. If I Can Finish, Then I'm Quite Happy To Go.

That Vision Of A Common Culture Is Now Simply A Remote Wistfulness.