Nothing Bad Can Happen To A Writer.

When The Whole World Doesn't Believe In God, It'll Be A Great Place.

You Take Off Your Clothes And You're In Bed With Somebody, And That Is Indeed Where Whatever You've Concealed, Your Particularity, Whatever It May Be, However Encrypted, Is Going To Be Found Out, And That's What All The Shyness Is All About And What Everybody Fears.

Teaching ... Particularly In The 1990s, Teaching What Is Far And Away The Dumbest Generation In American History, Is The Same As Walking Up Broadway In Manhattan Talking To Yourself, Except Instead Of Eighteen People Who Hear You In The Street Talking To Yourself, They're All In The Room. They Know, Like, Nothing.

Don't Judge It. Just Write It. Don't Judge It. It's Not For You To Judge It.

The Secret To Living In The Rush Of The World With A Minimum Of Pain Is To Get As Many People As Possible To String Along With Your Delusions; The Trick To Living Alone Up Here, Away From All Agitating Entanglements, Allurements, And Expectations, Apart Especially From One's Own Intensity, Is To Organize The Silence, To Think Of Its Mountaintop Plenitude As Capital, Silence As Wealth Exponentially Increasing. The Encircling Silence As Your Chosen Source Of Advantage And Your Only Intimate.