Good prose is solitary work.

The orgy room at Dave’s Baths was democracy made flesh; race and social standing were checked at the door along with clothes.

I learned years ago that love could be temporary and still be love.

The closest he comes to explaining why he found it gay is to say that like “Virginia Woolf”, it showed a woman defeating a man. Presumably a straight man could never imagine such a thing.

Being a Boy Scout saved my life. I was a bookish, introverted kid, shy and withdrawn, unhappy and easily bullied. I was also gay, although I didn’t know it yet. I should’ve been miserable. But being a scout got me out of myself and into the world.

A writer’s unconscious is difficult to read, but the imagination is rooted in the unconscious.

He swings the knocker against the door. The entire building booms like a drum. It continues booming after he lets go, banging like a clock striking the hour, rattling like a great tin drum.

...quiere vivir algo que se parezca a una experiencia extraordinaria, una batalla, una historia de amor, una aventura límite, un crimen incluso. Cielo o infierno, qué importa, pero un gran drama que lo saque de esta vida sin porvenir y que justifique su existencia. Entonces sí podría dormir plácidamente sobre sus laureles, o sobre sus espinas, sabiendo que ha vivido.

If oppression produced saints, we’d want everyone to be oppressed.

Imaginative writers often project their own monsters and meanings on basic facts.