“It is possible that the malice of writers has been overrated (by myself among others). Reading their ruminations on their craft, one sees why this writer could not possibly like that one, would indeed consider him a menace. Literature is a battleground of conflicting faiths, and nobler passions than envy are involved.”

John Banville: claiming Kafka as an Irish writer (2011)

Because you're one of my writers!
2009-04-03 broadcast
The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson (2005–2014)

Innokenty, in Ch. 57.
Variant translation: For a country to have a great writer is like having a second government. That is why no regime has ever loved great writers, only minor ones.
The First Circle (1968)

Nobel Prize Speech (1954)

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5
Diary entries (1914 - 1974)

"William Dean Howells" (1983)
1980s, At Home (1988)

Report From Part One (1972)

"Charles Dickens" (1939)
Context: When one reads any strongly individual piece of writing, one has the impression of seeing a face somewhere behind the page. It is not necessarily the actual face of the writer. I feel this very strongly with Swift, with Defoe, with Fielding, Stendhal, Thackeray, Flaubert, though in several cases I do not know what these people looked like and do not want to know. What one sees is the face that the writer ought to have. Well, in the case of Dickens I see a face that is not quite the face of Dickens's photographs, though it resembles it. It is the face of a man of about forty, with a small beard and a high colour. He is laughing, with a touch of anger in his laughter, but no triumph, no malignity. It is the face of a man who is always fighting against something, but who fights in the open and is not frightened, the face of a man who is generously angry — in other words, of a nineteenth-century liberal, a free intelligence, a type hated with equal hatred by all the smelly little orthodoxies which are now contending for our souls.

2000s, The Real Abraham Lincoln: A Debate (2002), Rebuttal