Quotes About Author

As I gushed earlier, the movie of Streetcar is for me total artistic perfection.

What's so menacing about the universe? The size. Of course I was smaller then.

Between the court edict and manipulation, not a single word or note has been passed or been allowed between us since she was seven.

I signed the agreement as Vigorish stared lupinely at what undoubtedly appeared to his eyes as an order of lambchops in Ralph Lauren tweeds.

Rita Moleskin—what are you doing here?" I said, discreetly pocketing the melting remains of my Snickers in a move Cardini would have envied.

while Sachs was also a liberal, he did not enjoy accompanying her to hear folk singing.

At that point, the thought I might need a criminal lawyer would never have blipped anywhere on my radar scope.

I did not suggest this story of Mia coaching. It was a conclusion the Yale investigation brought up.

Love and Death had been a broad comedy. Eisenstein and Tolstoy in cartoon.

Hey—is your play also so pessimistic?" "O'Neill is my strongest influence." "He got his vision from Nietzsche," she said.

you may return here and live amongst us forever in paradise, and when you do come back, if you can remember, bring me a Junior's Cheesecake.

Oviedo is a small paradise, marred only by the unnatural presence of a bronze image of a schlemiel.

He keels over clutching his abdomen and is rushed to the hospital, where he is placed in the Intensive Apathy ward.

I must argue, Wilk mandated a stupid, vindictive, and harmful visitation plan for me and the kids.

Yes, I'd give my life to lay my head tonight On a bed of California stars

Siempre creyó que un novelista debe estar a la altura de sus historias, y desde siempre le aquejó el temor de nunca ser lo suficientemente bravo

if I die innocent the shame will fall on those who are the cause of my death, since all sort of iniquity is attended with shame. But

Mockery be damned, my urine looked delicious.

nature as a whole was an exceptionally fine illustration of science.

Loneliness comes up to him like a sniffing dog. It circles him insistently. He waves it away, but it refuses to leave him alone.

Two blind people in two separate lifeboats meeting up in the Pacific–the coincidence seems a little far-fetched, no?

I don't know then. I wrote my book on the Holocaust without worrying about where the fucking bar code would go.

My gratitude to him is as boundless as the Pacific Ocean and I hope that my telling of his tale does not disappoint him.

My developing sense was that the foundation of a story is an emotional foundation. If a story does not work emotionally, it does not work at all.