All My Books Were Easy To Write

It Doesn't Matter Who You Are, Or What You've Done, Or Think You Can Do. There's A Confrontation With Destiny Awaiting You. Somewhere, There Is A Chile You Cannot Eat.

Hoboken Is A Neat Place.

I Imagine A Child. That Child Is Me. I Can Reconstruct And Vividly Remember Portions Of My Own Childhood. I Can See, Taste, Smell, Feel, And Hear Them. Then What I Do Is, Not Write About That Kid Or About His World, But Start To Think Of A Book That Would Have Pleased Him.

If The English Had Deep-dish Pizza They Could Have Kept Their Empire.

Looking Back Over My Life So Far I Am Able To Remember Specific Days That Were Perfect. These Tend To Be Days, And Parts Of Days, In Which Nothing In Particular Happened, Except That I Was Utterly Happy.