“I was young I was so young it hurt like a knifeinsidebecause there was no alternative except to hide as longas possible---not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:trying to connect.”

“When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity.”

“I wasn’t lonely. I experienced no self-pity. I was just caught up in a life in which I could find no meaning.”

“young or old, good or bad, I don't think anything dies as slow and as hard as a writer.”

“To be young is the only religion.”

“Dear child, I only did to youwhat the sparrowdid to you; I am old when it isfashionable to be young; I cry when it isfashionable to laugh.I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.”

“I climbed the stairway (there was no elevator) and put the key in. The door swung open. Somebody had changed all the furniture around, put in a new rug. No, the furniture was new, too. There was a woman on the couch. She looked all right. Young. Good legs. Blonde. 'Hello,' I said, 'care for a beer?' 'Hi!' she said. 'All right, I'll have one.' 'I like the way this place is fixed up,' I told her. 'I did it myself.' 'But why?' 'I just felt like it,' she said. We each drank at the beer. 'You're all right,' I said. I put my beercan down and gave her a kiss. I put my hand on one of her knees. It was a nice knee. Then I had another swallow of beer. 'Yes,' I said, 'I really like the way this place looks. It's really going to lift my spirits.' 'That's nice. My husband likes it too.' 'Now why would your husband...What? Your husband? Look, what's this apartment number?' '309.' '309? Great Christ! I'm on the wrong floor! I live in 409.”