The Soviet man was a man who was always waiting—for rations, for orders, for the end.

A writer's life is a highly vulnerable, almost naked activity. We don't have to weep about that. The writer makes his choice and is stuck with it. But it is true to say that you are open to all the winds, some of them icy indeed. You are out on your own, out on a limb. You find no shelter, no protection — unless you lie — in which case of course you have constructed your own protection and, it could be argued, become a politician.

The man who is anybody and who does anything is surely going to be criticized, vilified, and misunderstood. This is part of the penalty for greatness, and every great man understands it.

Keep all your things visible in a hotel room， not in drawers， and all gathered into one spot. That way you’ll never leave anything behind. If you need to have something like a charger off to the side， place a couple of other large items next to it， because you are less likely to leave 3 items behind than just one.