Every Man Is Made Of Clay And

It’s Only With Great Vulgarity That You Can Achieve Real Refinement, Only Out Of Bawdry That You Can Get Tenderness.

The Artist's Work Constitutes The Only Satisfactory Relationship He Can Have With His Fellow Men Since He Seeks His Real Friends Among The Dead And The Unborn.

We Should Tackle Reality In A Slightly Jokey Way, Otherwise We Miss Its Point.

Of Women, The Most We Can Say, Not Being Frenchmen, Is That They Are Burrowing Animals.

It Takes A Lot Of Energy And A Lot Of Neurosis To Write A Novel. If You Were Really Sensible, You'd Do Something Else.