All Dramatic Realism Is Somewhat Sadistic; An

The Perennial Wonder Of Venice Is To Peer At Herself In Her Canals And Find That She Exists-incredible As It Seems. It Is The Same Reassurance That A Looking-glass Offers Us: The Guarantee That We Are Real.

The Passion For Fact In A Raw State Is A Peculiarity Of The Novelist.

I Once Started A Detective Story To Make Money—but I Couldn't Get The Murder To Take Place! At The End Of Three Chapters I Was Still Describing The Characters And The Milieu, So I Thought, This Is Not Going To Work. No Corpse!

... It Was Religion That Saved Me. Our Ugly Church And Parochial School Provided Me With My Only Aesthetic Outlet, In The Words Ofthe Mass And The Litanies And The Old Latin Hymns, In The Easter Lilies Around The Altar, Rosaries, Ornamented Prayer Books, Votive Lamps, Holy Cards Stamped In Gold And Decorated With Flower Wreaths And A Saint's Picture.

In Moments Of Despair, We Look On Ourselves Lead-enly As Objects; We See Ourselves, Our Lives, As Someone Else Might See Them And May Even Be Driven To Kill Ourselves If The Separation, The "knowledge," Seems Sufficiently Final.