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Quotes by Novelist
"Luck consists largely of hanging on by your fingernails until things start to go your way."
Luck,
49
"The interpretation of our reality through patterns not our own, serves only to make us ever more unknown, ever less free, ever more solitary."
49
"Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree."
49
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
49
"One must live the way one thinks or end up thinking the way one has lived."
49
"Two lives that once part are as ships that divide."
49
"Are you referring to the day you instructed me to 'follow the white rabbit,' plied me with absinthe and brownies, and tried to have your way with me? Didn't take long for you to lose your romantic streak, did it?"
49
"I use the word "man loosely. A better description would be "the most beautiful specimen of Homo sapiens sapiens with a set of XY chromosomes to grace the planet Earth at this moment, or any other era, epoch, or age in history."
49
"There were influences in my life that were more important than journalism, such as comic strips and radio."
49
"Do you ever answer anything in a way that people expect you to?"
49
"I've never written about my husband, Steve, or any of my children because I know them all too well. I see them in all their complexities which makes them impossible to render on the printed page."
49
"At the moment, I'm toying with a new idea for a book, but fully engaged with writing screenplays, so the book idea - which needs empty space in my head - is barely formed yet."
49
"The great book for you is the book that has the most to say to you at the moment when you are reading. I do not mean the book that is most instructive, but the book that feeds your spirit. And that depends on your age, your experience, your psychological and spiritual need."
49
"I felt angry, frustrated.I felt I didn't belong, not in my,church, not in my home, not in my skin."
49
"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."
49
"Men and women should own the world as a mutual possession."
49
"As you grow older, you'll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don't you forget it-whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash."
49
"The eyes of hope looking over the flare of the hood into the maw with its white line feeding in straight as an arrow, the lighting of fresh cigarettes, the buckling to lean forward to the next adventure something that's been going on in America ever since the covered wagons clocked the deserts in three months flat."
49
"You can be brave and still be feminine. You can lead and still love flowers."
49
"Love me. You have destroyed everything! But if you love me, it can all be restored in a new form. Love me."
49
"Beneath the rule of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword."
49
"Often ill comes from the good, as good from ill."
49
"I'll try a pagan friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy."
49
"True love begins when nothing is looked for in return."
49
"As told by Kafka's close friend Max Brod:"Suddenly he began to speak to the fish in their illuminated tanks. 'Now at least I can look at you in peace, I don't eat you anymore.' It was the time he turned strictly vegetarian."
49
"Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memories of my youth speak to me as I walk, just as the sea shells crunch under my feet on the beach. The crash of every wave awakens far-distant reverberations within me... I hear the rumble of bygone days, and in my mind the whole endless series of old passions surges forward like the billows. I remember my spasms, my sorrows, gusts of desire that whistled like wind in the rigging, and vast vague longings that swirled in the dark like a flock of wild gulls in a stormcloud... On whom should I lean, if not on you? My weary mind turns for refreshment to the thought of you as a dusty traveler might sink onto a soft and grassy bank..."
49
"But I do not have the reader in mind when I write. No true writer does that."
49
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