The Novel As We Knew

Because The World To-day Is So Constructed That No One Can Do What He Would Like To Do, And He Is Forced, Instead, To Do What Others Wish Him To Do. Because The Question Of Money Always Intrudes—into What We Do, Into What We Are, Into What We Wish To Become, Into Our Work, Into Our Highest Aspirations, Even Into Our Relations With The People We Love!

Every True Writer Is Like A Bird; He Repeats The Same Song, The Same Theme, All His Life. For Me, This Theme As Always Been Revolt.

Yes, One Uses What One Knows, But Autobiography Means Something Else. I Should Never Be Able To Write A Real Autobiography; I Always End By Falsifying And Fictionalizing—i’m A Liar, In Fact. That Means I’m A Novelist, After All. I Write About What I Know.

The Ratio Of Literacy To Illiteracy Is Constant, But Nowadays The Illiterates Can Read And Write.

The Novel As We Knew It In The Nineteenth Century Was Killed Off By Proust And Joyce.