Philosophical involvement blinded me to authentic human fact.
One cannot judge by book being best seller. We all know that. Many best sellers are terrible trash.
Never walk over a writer, I said to myself, unless you’re positive he can’t rise up behind you. If you’re going to burn him, make sure he’s dead. Because if he’s alive, he will talk: talk in written form, on the printed, permanent page.
My schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression.
Many men talk like philosophers and live like fools.
Love is another name for sex.
Joy is the essential and final ingredient of science fiction, the joy of discovery of newness.
It’s easy to win. Anybody can win.
Fear can make you do more wrong than hate or jealousy. If you’re afraid you don’t commit yourself to life completely; fear makes you always, always hold something back.
You’re killing yourself with cynicism. Your idols got taken away from you one by one and now you have nothing to give your love to.
You never see the ones who really love you and help you; you’re always involved with strangers.
You know the truth, the brick-hard, irregular, slithery surface of truth.
