Books Are Like Flypaper, Memories Cling To

She Wanted To Return To Her Dream. Perhaps It Was Still Somewhere There Behind Her Closed Eyelids. Perhaps A Little Of Its Happiness Still Clung Like Gold Dust To Her Lashes. Don't Dreams In Fairy Tales Sometimes Leave A Token Behind?

You Really Don't Understand The First Thing About Writing...for One Thing, Early In The Morning Is The Worst Possible Time. The Brain Is Like A Wet Sponge At That Hour. And For Another, Real Writing Is A Question Of Staring Into Space And Waiting For The Right Ideas.

My Son Always Says I Like Very Weird Music.

Why Would We Ever Want To Go Back When Your World Is So Accommodating With Your Telephones And Your Guns And What's That Sticky Stuff Called ...duct Tape.

She Had Only To Open A Door, Nothing But A Door Between The Words,just Large Enough For Her And Farid To Pass Through.