Being on TV is like being alive, only more so.
It’s a man’s world, they say; but in its daily textures it is a world created by and for women.
The worst thing in the world is a bitter woman. That’s one thing about your mother, she’s never been bitter.
The yearning for an afterlife is the opposite of selfish: it is love and praise for the world that we are privileged, in this complex interval of light, to witness and experience.
Yes, there is a ton of information on the Web, but much of it is egregiously inaccurate, unedited, unattributed and juvenile.
You know how it is with fathers, you never escape the idea that maybe after all they’re right.
Cities aren’t like people; they live on and on, even though their reason for being where they are has gone downriver and out to sea.
All dancing is now is standing in place and letting the devil of the music enter you.
Families, doing everything for each other out of imagined obligation and always getting in each other’s way, what a tangle.
Life, just as we first thought, is playing grownup.
Our lives fade behind us before we die.
One of the nice things about having a lover, it makes you think about everything anew. The rest of your life becomes a kind of movie, flat and even rather funny.
In the vacuum of the heart love falls forever.
What you lose as you age is witnesses, the ones that watched from early on and cared, like your own little grandstand.
Do what the heart commands. The heart is our only guide.
I can’t bear to finish things, beyond a certain point they get heavy. There’s something so dead about a finished painting.
I secretly understood: the primitive appeal of the hearth. Television is – its irresistible charm – a fire.
Being a famous writer is a little like being a tall dwarf. You’re on the edge of normality.
Looking foolish does the spirit good.
I will try not to panic, to keep my standard of living modest and to work steadily, even shyly, in the spirit of those medieval carvers who so fondly sculpted the undersides of choir seats.