“I write so slowly, I could write with my own blood and not hurt myself.”

“There is a marvelous peace in not publishing ... I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure.”

“I write for myself, for my own pleasure. And I want to be left alone to do it.”

“I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.”

“Resentment slowly poisoned my blood and I laughed at myself and my absurd hopes.”

“Why one writes is a question I can answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me — the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.”