It Just Happened. As Though A Moment

One Of Them, For Example, Which Will Probably Haunt Me More Than Any Other Is The Problem Of Communication.

If Each One Of Us Could Make Just One Other Happy, The Whole World Would Know Happiness.

I Write Fast, Because I Have Not The Brains To Write Slow.

The Place Smelled Of Fairgrounds, Of Lazy Crowds, Of Nights When You Stayed Out Because You Couldn't Go To Bed, And It Smelled Like New York, Of Its Calm And Brutal Indifference.

I Would Like To Carve My Novel In A Piece Of Wood. My Characters—i Would Like To Have Them Heavier, More Three-dimensional ... My Characters Have A Profession, Have Characteristics; You Know Their Age, Their Family Situation, And Everything. But I Try To Make Each One Of Those Characters Heavy, Like A Statue, And To Be The Brother Of Everybody In The World.