I like to talk on TV about those things that aren’t worth writing about.
All literature is gossip.
My major regret in life is that my childhood was unnecessarily lonely.
I was eleven, then I was sixteen. Though no honors came my way, those were the lovely years.
Fame is only good for one thing – they will cash your check in a small town.
No one will ever know what ‘In Cold Blood’ took out of me. It scraped me right down to the marrow of my bones. It nearly killed me. I think, in a way, it did kill me.
Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.
I don’t care what anybody says about me as long as it isn’t true.
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make.
It is the want to know the end that makes us believe in God, or witchcraft, believe, at least, in something.
Writing stopped being fun when I discovered the difference between good writing and bad and, even more terrifying, the difference between it and true art. And after that, the whip came down.
I can see every monster as they come in.
I got this idea of doing a really serious big work-it would be precisely like a novel, with a single difference: Every word of it would be true from beginning to end.
Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.