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The only concession Quentin made during his final years was to spend two days a week "doing absolutely nothing" in his tiny, cluttered step-down bedsitting room in the Bowery area of the Lower East Side. "I have to recharge my batteries." During these quiet moments, Quentin did crosswords-"they are the aerobics of the soul"-and, at the end of each month, he would write in his diary.
"An autobiography is an obituary in serial form with the last installment missing."
"There is no need to do any housework at all. After the first four years the dirt doesn't get any worse."
"The poverty from which I have suffered could be diagnosed as "Soho" poverty. It comes from having the airs and graces of a genius and no talent."