“I'll be writing until I can't write anymore. It's a compulsion with me. I love writing.”

“This should make him happy. This should change him. But it doesn't. It can't. He's been changed already. And I don't know what to write anymore, because I'm afraid of what it will be. Because I can't think, and she asks me to write, but I won't know what to write. I can't think. I can't think. Isobel. Isobel. Isobel.”

“Write," he said."I'll write to you as soon as I get there," answered Julian."No. Not to me. Write books. Not letters. Write them for me, for Penelope.”

“...do you like to write?""No. No writer really likes to write. I like to make love and drink wine. At my age I shouldn't lose time with anything else, but I can't stop writing. It's a disease.”

“How I love - writing, acting, breathing the atmosphere- and one day I'll have it. If I cannot write, I shall die.”

“When I'm writing I can write anywhere; when I'm not writing I can't write anywhere.”