The Novel Is Resilient, And So Are

All One Wants To Do Is Make A Small, Finished, Polished, Burnished, Beautiful Object . . . I Mean, That's All One Wants To Do. One Has Nothing To Say About The World, Or Society, Or Morals Or Politics Or Anything Else. One Just Wants To Get The Damn Thing Done, You Know? Kafka Had It Right When He Said That The Artist Is The Man Who Has Nothing To Say. It's True. You Get The Thing Done, But You Don't Actually Have Anything To Communicate, Apart From The Object Itself.

That's One Of The Many Things I Hate About Life, That It's A Hideously Cliched Business.

A Man Is Not Much If He Can't Depend On Himself, And Nothing If Others Can't Depend On Him.

Sleep Is Uncanny, I Have Always Found It So, A Nightly Dress-rehearsal For Being Dead.

The Trouble With You, Vic," He Said, "is That You Think Of The World As A Sort Of Huge Museum With Too Many Visitors Allowed In.