A Ton Of Proust Isn’t Worth An

If I Don't Write, I Begin To Feel Unsettled And Uneasy, As I Gather People Do Who Are Not Allowed To Dream.

I Don't Think Any Particular Painters Have Inspired Me, Except In A General Sense. It Was More A Matter Of Corroboration. The Visual Arts, From Manet Onwards, Seemed Far More Open To Change And Experiment Than The Novel, Though That's Only Partly The Fault Of The Writers. There's Something About The Novel That Resists Innovation.

Lysenkoism: A Forlorn Attempt Not Merely To Colonize The Botanical Kingdom, But To Instill A Proper Sense Of The Puritan Work Ethic And The Merits Of Self-improvement.

When The Modern Movement Began, Starting Perhaps With The Paintings Of Manet And The Poetry Of Baudelaire And Rimbaud, What Distinguished The Modern Movement Was The Enormous Honesty That Writers, Painters And Playwrights Displayed About Themselves. The Bourgeois Novel Flinches From Such Notions.

I Admired Anyone Who Could Unsettle People.