There is nothing more distressing or tiresome than a writer standing in front of an audience and reading his work.
Get a black suit and just freeload, problem it’s too God damned late now even to be any of the things I never wanted to be.
He stood there unsteady in the cold, mumbling syllables which almost resolved into her name, as though he could recall, and summon back, a time before death entered the world, before accident, before magic, and before magic despaired, to become religion.
What’s any artist, but the dregs of his work? the human shambles that follows it around. What’s left of the man when the work’s done but a shambles of apology.
Stupidity is the deliberate cultivation of ignorance.
Justice? You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law.
He walked out into the cold morning asking himself this heretical question: Can you start measuring a minute at any instant you wish?
Power doesn’t corrupt people; people corrupt power.
If you want to make a million you don’t have to understand money, what you have to understand is people’s fears about money.
What’s any artist, but the dregs of his work?
I see the player piano as the grandfather of the computer, the ancestor of the entire nightmare we live in, the birth of the binary world where there is no option other than yes or no and where there is no refuge.
How some of the writers I come across get through their books without dying of boredom is beyond me.
We want someone to bring us the news.
That’s what I can’t stand. I know I’ll bounce back, and that’s what I can’t stand.
If it is not beautiful for someone, it does not exist.
I mean why should somebody go steal and break the law to get all they can when there’s always some law where you can be legal and get it all anyway!
Why do you treat me as they do, as though I were exactly what I want to be. Why do we treat people that way?
How real is any of the past, being every moment revalued to make the present possible...
It is the bliss of childhood that we are being warped most when we know it the least.
We’re comic. We’re all comics. We live in a comic time. And the worse it gets the more comic we are.