The Novel As We Knew It In

Modern Man-whether In The Womb Of The Masses, Or With His Workmates, Or With His Family, Or Alone-can Never For One Moment Forget That He Is Living In A World In Which He Is A Means And Whose End Is Not His Business.

Yes, One Uses What One Knows, But Autobiography Means Something Else. I Should Never Be Able To Write A Real Autobiography; I Always End By Falsifying And Fictionalizing—i’m A Liar, In Fact. That Means I’m A Novelist, After All. I Write About What I Know.

Loyalty, Signor Molteni, Not Love. Penelope Is Loyal To Ulysses But We Do Not Know How Far She Loved Him...and As You Know People Can Sometimes Be Absolutely Loyal Without Loving. In Certain Cases, In Fact, Loyalty Is Form Of Vengeance, Of Black-mail, Of Recovering One's Self-respect. Loyalty, Not Love.

A Writer Survives In Spite Of His Beliefs.

In Life There Are No Problems, That Is, Objective And External Choices; There Is Only The Life Which We Do Not Resolve As A Problem But Which We Live As An Experience, Whatever The Final Result May Be.