A Writer Survives In Spite Of His

When You Aren't Sincere You Need To Pretend, And By Pretending You End Up Believing Yourself; That's The Basic Principle Of Every Faith.

...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.

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.

Every True Writer Is Like A Bird; He Repeats The Same Song, The Same Theme, All His Life. For Me, This Theme As Always Been Revolt.

War Has Become An Affair Of Machines...and Soldiers Are Little More Than Clever Mechanics.