Thomas Bernhard

He lived in a time when a big hoopla was made of making sentences, to the degree that making sentences became a fetish, and the ability to make a good sentence was regarded as genius.

He wasn't the first to see that if he lost interest in a sentence as a writer he was, in effect, punishing the reader, but he was among the first.

He wrote many novels in the manner of one who doesn't want to stop writing, unlike other writers, like Samuel Beckett, who write like they can't wait to stop.

He had wicked fun with the weird equation that art equals life. The most perceptive critics suspect that his work is important to the degree that it remains unfinished.

He's not really dead but living under an assumed name in a luxury apartment in Piazza Minerva, Rome.