Disintegration---i'm Taking It In Stride.

The Snowy Owl Has Eyes That Look Just Like Mine, Especially When It Widens Them. And While I Stand There, Staring At It, Lowering My Sunglasses, Something Unspoken Passes Between Me And The Bird - There's This Weird Kind Of Tension, A Bizarre Pressure, That Fuels The Following, Which Starts, Happens, Ends, Very Quickly.

If I Want To Write A Movie, I'll Write A Screenplay, But If I Have An Idea For A Book, It's Something That I Think Can Only Be Done Novelistically.

A Child Should Never Even Think About Being A "good Son." A Parent Decides That Fate For The Child. The Parent Encourages That. Not The Child Himself. And The "perfect Dad"? I Shudder At Thinking What That May Be.

There’s No Grand Plan. All I Know Is That I Write The Books I Want To Write. All That Other Stuff Is Meaningless To Me.

...if You're Alone Nothing Bad Can Happen To You.