Art Is A Profession, Not A Shrine.

It's One Of The Things Writing Students Don't Understand. They Write A First Draft And Are Quite Disappointed, Or Often Should Be Disappointed. They Don't Understand That They Have Merely Begun, And That They May Be Merely Beginning Even In The Second Or Third Draft.

Sex, Without Society As Its Landscape, Has Never Been Of Much Interest To Fiction.

Now, My Novel Begins. No, Now I Begin My Novel—and Yet I Cannot Decide Whether To Call Myself I Or She.

The Fifties - They Seem To Have Taken Place On A Sunny Afternoon That Asked Nothing Of You Except A Drifting Belief In The Moment And Its Power To Satisfy.

Memory - The Very Skin Of Life.