Life is cruel? Compared to what?
I am hopeful, though not full of hope, and the only reason I don't believe in happy endings is because I don't believe in endings.
That which today calls itself science gives us more and more information, and indigestible glut of information, and less and less understanding.
Life imitates art -- but badly.
Roosters: The cry of the male chicken is the most barbaric yawp in all of nature.
Every man should be his own guru; every woman her own gurette.
Every writer has his favorite coterie of enemies: Mine is the East Coast literati -- those prep school playmates and their Ivy League colleagues.
Salome had but seven veils; the artist has a thousand.
Put the park rangers to work. Lazy scheming loafers, they've wasted too many years selling tickets at toll booths and sitting behind desks filling out charts and tables
Life without music would be an intolerable insult.
Anyone not paranoid in this world must be crazy. . . . Speaking of paranoia, it's true that I do not know exactly who my enemies are. But that of course is exactly why I'm paranoid.
Suicide: Don't knock it if you ain't tried it.
Literature, like anything else, can become a wearisome business if you make a lifetime specialty of it. A healthy, wholesome man would no more spend his entire life reading great books than he would packing cookies for Nabisco.
One day in Dipstick, Nebraska, or Landfill, Oklahoma, is worth more to me than an eternity in Dante's plastic Paradiso, or Yeats's gold-plated Byzantium.
There is a wine called Easy Days and Mellow Nights, well-known on the outskirts of the Navajo reservation. It is an economical wine, fortified with the best of intentions, and I recommend it to every serious wino.
The majority of American writers today have chosen passive non-resistance to things as they are, producing sloughs of poetry about their personal angst and anomie, cascades of short stories and rivers of novels obsessed with the nuances of domestic relationships - suburban hanky-panky - chic boutique shopping mall literary soap opera. When they do speak out on matters of controversy they attack not the evils of our time but fellow writers who may insist on complaining.
Literary critics, like a herd of cows or a school of fish, always face in the same direction, obeying that love for unity that every critic requires.
The death penalty would be even more effective, as a deterrent, if we executed a few innocent people more often.
I would prefer to write about everything; what else is there? But one must be selective.
Books are like eggs -- best when fresh.
Most of the literary classics are worth reading, if you've nothing better to do.
There has never yet been a human society worthy of the name of civilization. Civilization remains a remote ideal.
No man likes to be smoked out of his hole in February.
Vaughan Telecom installers and contractors ensure the highest quality service for data and network cabling in Toronto and GTA area.
The Proustian aquarium: grotesque and gorgeous fish drifting with languid fins through a subaqueous medium of pale violet polluted ink.
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