I had a lot of trouble in school to begin with. I got left back in kindergarten, and I was in special education. My teachers didn’t have very much faith in me.
Books should have a purpose. Books should be practical in some sense.
As humans, we’re so easily persuaded. We join this cause or that cause, and suddenly the other thing is wrong.
I think the lies I make the most are in regards to my hopes and intentions for myself. As for lies I tell other people – I will certainly tell lies. When somebody is very ill and looks awful, and you tell them they look nice. Or if you just ate the last cookie, if someone asked me if I ate the last cookie, I would definitely lie about that.
I love to reread, even more than I like to read, so keeping a hold of books that I adore is very important, although they flee from me – they are always fleeing.
There’s a misunderstanding about what nonsensical things are – the idea that they’re just funny, and that’s the beginning and the end of it. Nonsense is not ‘not sense’ – it operates at the edge of sense. It teems with sense – at the same time, it resists any kind of universal understanding.
I just think we’re on this rock orbiting a sun that’s going to go out, and I don’t know that human society is necessarily a wonderful thing for the planet. I think people can be kind to one another and share things, but I don’t know that this particular iteration of civilization is to be preferred to any other.
Malicious lying is usually a matter of need, but often the cruelest things we say are the truth.
As a writer of fiction, lying is the central thing to all books.
As far as I can see, the best writers in the last two hundred years have been Whitman, Rilke, Proust, Kafka. Their best works: ‘Leaves of Grass – 1855;’ ‘Duino Elegies;’ ‘The Captive & The Fugitive;’ ‘The Castle.’