“I found a pristine lake, undisturbed by man. So, of course I had to clang a few pots and piss in the lake, to really disturb it.”

“I knew I would stay in this town when I found the blue enamel pot floating in the lake. The pot led me to the house, the house led me to the book, the book to the lawyer, the lawyer to the whorehouse, the whorehouse to science, and from science I joined the world.”

“We were in a pit. Fitting. This was, after all, my hell. This pit around the lake. The lake that had taken so much. My friendship with Decker. My humanity. Quite nearly my life. And I was so angry with it. I wasn't scared anymore. I was furious.”

“Any time, any place? I ask, gazing out across the glittering lake. A breeze disturbs it's silver surface. In a heartbeat, Phoenix promises.”

“All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. And then there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.”

“I plugged the hole up with my thumb, so at least I wouldn’t sink. But it was really uncomfortable floating on that lake with my thumb up my ass.”