Chic Is A Convent For Unloved Women.

If A Book Is Really Good, It Deserves To Be Read Again, And If It's Great, It Should Be Read At Least Three Times.

The Epic Implications Of Being Human End In More Than This: We Start Our Lives As If They Were Momentous Stories, With A Beginning, A Middle And An Appropriate End, Only To Find That They Are Mostly Middles.

To Be Misunderstood Can Be The Writer's Punishment For Having Disturbed The Reader's Peace. The Greater The Disturbance, The Greater The Possibility Of Misunderstanding.

In Novels, I Said, People Are Transfigured By Love. They’re Elevated, Made Different, Lifted Out Of Their Ordinariness…it’s Not So Much To Ask, I Said. I Just Want Love To Live Up To Its Publicity.

Sex Almost Always Disappoints Me In Novels. Everything Can Be Said Or Done Now, And That's What I Often Find: Everything, A Feeling Of Generality Or Dispersal. But In My Experience, True Sex Is So Particular, So Peculiar To The Person Who Yearns For It. Only He Or She, And No One Else, Would Desire So Very Much That Very Person Under Those Circumstances. In Fiction, I Miss That Sense Of Terrific Specificity.