A Writer Survives In Spite Of His

And We All Know Love Is A Glass Which Makes Even A Monster Appear Fascinating.

I Do Not Foresee A Time When I Shall Feel That I Have Nothing To Say.

Yes, One Uses What One Knows, But Autobiography Means Something Else. I Should Never Be Able To Write A Real Autobiography; I Always End By Falsifying And Fictionalizing—i’m A Liar, In Fact. That Means I’m A Novelist, After All. I Write About What I Know.

...my Boredom Might Be Described As A Malady Affecting External Objects And Consisting Of A Withering Process; An Almost Instantaneous Loss Of Vitality--just As Though One Saw A Flower Change In A Few Seconds From A Bud To Decay And Dust.

A Writer Survives In Spite Of His Beliefs.