For The Serious Artist Does Not Satisfy

I Don't Write Out Of Fear. I Write Out Of A Strong Urge To Meet Death On Its Own Eternal Terms, Because The Fact Is That If You Write As Little As A Page Of Prose-even Bad Prose-that Is Eternal.

The Unconscious Mind Has A Habit Of Asserting Itself In The Afternoon.

Life's Only Choosing When To Die. Life's A Big Postponement Because The Choice Is So Difficult. It's A Tremendous Relief Not To Have To Choose.

This Is Great Art, We've Been Told This By The Great Pundits Of Our Age. And In Consequence Why Should We Bother To Learn? There's Nothing More Delightful Than To Be Told, 'you Don't Have To Learn, My Boy. There's Nothing In It. Modern Art? There's Nothing In It.

Life Is, Of Course, Terrible.