Let's Hope The First Comes First.

I Don't Wish To Be A Slave Any Longer To The Stringent Exigencies Of Literature.

Is An Intelligent Human Being Likely To Be Much More Than A Large-scale Manufacturer Of Misunderstanding?

Suicide Is The Role You Write For Yourself. You Inhabit It And You Enact It. All Carefully Staged -- Where They Will Find You And How They Will Find You. But One Performance Only.

I Think I Write Or Publish As Much As I Do Because I Can Bear Being Without A Book To Work On. But Routinely When I Finish A Book, I Think, "what Will I Do? Where Will I Get An Idea?" And A Kind Of Low-level Panic Sets In. And Then Eventually Something Happens. I Don't Know. If I Knew How It Happened I Would Repeat The Process, But I Don't Know - Something Just Occurs To Me.

Being In The Dark From Sentence To Sentence Is What Convinces Me To Go On.