Whatever is spoken of acquires a certain existence.
Life is struggle and sleep.
Awakening in the morning returns us to life, and to awareness of death.
Life is what it makes you.
Vicarious living is only slightly less impossible than vicarious eating.
The Insignificance of Man is a congenial theme; my own insignificance is a sore point.
Somehow the body keeps life going despite the ravaging negations of the mind.
Life is used up all the same, whether we save, spend, or waste it.
I really like life, don’t you? There’s nothing else quite like it.
A goldfish is reason enough for living, if someone needs a reason.
Life is the risk we cannot refuse.
Life just keeps unfolding, ignoring our praise or blame.
I dream of summing everything up in the greatest sentence ever written.
Always leave room for the reader to supply meanings.
Writing is a refuge from unhappiness, but has its own sorrows.
Even in the midst of love-making, writers are working on the description.
The writer is always courted by invitations from the all-too- familiar.
The writer considers sayability before anything else.
I am most drawn to writing when I have something else urgent to do.
Even in writing an annual report, the unconscious plays a role.