There must be possible a fiction which, leaving sociology and case histories to the scientists, can arrive at the truth about the human condition, he….

I suspect that all the agony that goes into writing is borne precisely because the writer longs for acceptance-but it must be acceptance on his own t….

At best Americans give but a limited attention to history. Too much happens too rapidly, and before we can evaluate it, or exhaust its meaning or ple….

All novels are about certain minorities: the individual is a minority..

But what a feeling can come over a man just from seeing the things he believes in and hopes for symbolized in the concrete form of a man. In somethin….

Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?.

I am an invisible man. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids - and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, un….

That ... is how the world moves: Not like an arrow, but a boomerang..

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me..

I blundered into writing..

Injustice wears ever the same harsh face wherever it shows itself..

I remember that I'm invisible and walk softly so as not awake the sleeping ones. Sometimes it is best not to awaken them; there are few things in the….

...and yet I am what they think I am..

I'm not a separatist. The imagination is integrative. That's how you make the new -- by putting something else with what you've got. And I'm unashame….

Light confirms my reality, gives birth to my form...without light I am not only invisible but formless as well; and to be unaware of one's form is to….

There are few things in the world as dangerous as sleepwalkers..

We look too much to museums. The sun coming up in the morning is enough..

Perhaps to lose a sense of where you are implies the danger of losing a sense of who you are..

For, like almost everyone else in our country, I started out with my share of optimism. I believed in hard work and progress and action, but now, aft….

I was never more hated than when I tried to be honest. Or when, even as just now I've tried to articulate exactly what I felt to be the truth. No one….

To hell with being ashamed of what you liked..