Of mystery there is no end. Of clarity, there is precious little.

So many writers make dope glamorous; a form of romantic transgression, or world-weariness, or poetic sensitivity, or hipness. Mainly it's the stuff of ritualistic communion among inarticulate bores.

Stories should be natural as apples, brief as lust, long as a thought.

Never to have to think of yourself as white is a luxory that makes you deeply stupid.

There is always something for which there is no accounting. Take, for example, the whole world.

Adultery is not about sex or romance. Ultimately, it is about how little we mean to one another.

Some animals are secretive; some are shy. A cat is private.

There's hardly anywhere in literature where you don't find a triangle.