I always try to avoid anything that has to do with my life.
My disenchantment? Oh no, my dear, there are no disenchantments, merely progressions and styles of possession. To exist is to be spellbound.
We need myths to get by. We need story; otherwise the tremendous randomness of experience overwhelms us. Story is what penetrates.
People, fearing their own extinction, are willing to accept and perpetuate hand-me-down answers to the meaning of life and death; and, fearing a weakening of the tribal structures that sustain them, reinforce with their tales the conventional notions of justice, freedom, law and order, nature, family, etc. The writer, lone rider, has the power, if not always the skills, wisdom, or desire, to disturb this false contentment.
The narrative impulse is always with us; we couldn't imagine ourselves through a day without it.
There's no need to inundate the world with books and language. It's just too full already. There's so much rubbish hiding in the world. But as long as I think I can do something inventive and insightful, then I'll keep doing it.
Metafiction says something. It has to do with taking a large fiction itself and writing within it; that kind of self-reflecting writing that emerges from it can be thought of as metafictional.
There is no such thing as bragging. You're either lying or telling the truth.
I told my doctor, "I've swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills" and he told me to have a few drinks and get some rest.
It’s my future and my life and I can’t make myself live the way someone else wants me to.
Make a room for love and it always comes. Make a nest for love and it always settles. Make a home for the beloved and the beloved with always find their way there