-Edna O’Brien, Night
-Saul Bellow, The Dean’s December
-Vladimir Nabokov, Despair
-Walker Percy, The Last Gentleman
That ‘writers write’ is meant to be self-evident. People like to say it. I find it is hardly ever true. Writers drink. Writers rant. Writers phone. Writers sleep. I have met very few writers who write at all.
-Renata Adler, Speedboat
Forbidden are words about flowers. Forbidden is spring. In general, all the good words are faint with exhaustion.
-Viktor Shklovsky, ZOO, or Letters Not About Love
In these prayers the child Charlotte routinely asked that “it” turn out all right, “it” being unspecified and all-inclusive, and she had been an adult for some years before the possibility occurred to her that “it” might not.
-Joan Didion, A Book of Common Prayer
I drank soda water and smoked and fretted, until light began to break and the rustle of a rising breeze turned me back to my bed.
-Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited