Dad Is Always Hiding In His Book.

Writers Are Not Just People Who Sit Down And Write. They Hazard Themselves. Every Time You Compose A Book Your Composition Of Yourself Is At Stake.

The Writer Isn't Made In A Vacuum. Writers Are Witnesses. The Reason We Need Writers Is Because We Need Witnesses To This Terrifying Century.

I Lived In New York For A Couple Months. It Seemed To Me At First An Incredibly Clean Place With Well-dressed People And Washed Cars And Bright-painted Red-and-yellow Streetcars And White Buildings.

There Are Moments When I Cannot Bear This Unremitting Consciousness. It Knows Only Itself. Awake, I Am In A Continuum With My Dreams. I Feel My Typewriters, My Table, My Chair To Have That Assurance Of A Solid World, Where Things Take Up Space, Where Is Not The Endless Emptiness Of Insubstantial Thought That Leads To Nowhere But Itself. My Memories Pale As I Prevail Upon Them Again And Again. They Become More And More Ghostly. I Fear Nothing So Much As Losing Them Altogether And Having Only My Blank Endless Mind To Live In.

Someone Dying Asks If There Is Life After Death. Yes, Comes The Answer, Only Not Yours.