Self-pity” Is Just Sadness, I Think, In

Writing About Writing Is A Bit Like Talking About A Conversation You Are Having; It Tends To Obscure Desperation About Where The Next Word Is Coming From.

Things Have Changed Very Much, Several Times, Since I Grew Up, And, Like Everyone In New York Except The Intellectuals, I Have Led Several Lives And I Still Lead Some Of Them.

Lyda Was An Exuberant, Even A Dramatic Gardener.... She Was Always Holding Up A Lettuce Or A Bunch Of Radishes With An Air Of Resolute Courage, As Though She Had Shot Them Herself.

No One Ever Confides A Secret To One Person Only. No One Destroys All Copies Of A Document.

The Writer Has A Grudge Against Society, Which He Documents With Accounts Of Unsatisfying Sex, Unrealized Ambition, Unmitigated Loneliness, And A Sense Of Local And Global Distress.