Human Beings Need Unhappiness At Least As

Sometimes, Surely, Truth Is Closer To Imagination Or To Intelligence, To Love Than To Fact? To Be Accurate Is Not To Be Right.

Italians Are Never Punctual; The Café, The Convenient Place To Wait, Absolves Them From That. There Is No Question Of Hanging About, No Looking Lost And Unwanted Or Even Disreputable, As There Is In Hotel Lobbies Or The Foyers Of Restaurants. One Just Sits And Enjoys The Scene, And Waits.

I Think That One Is Constantly Startled By The Things That Appear Before You On The Page When You're Writing.

There Is Balance In Life, But Not Fairness.

I Have A Superstition That If I Talk About Plot, It's Like Letting Sand Out Of A Hole In The Bottom Of A Bag.