Every Marriage Has Two Hearts, One Light

The Most Important Things Are The Hardest To Say

What Do You Really Want To Know? Am I Sorry For What I Did? There's Not A Day Goes By I Don't Feel Regret. Not Because I'm In Here, But Because You Think I Should Be. I Look Back On The Way I Was. A Young, Stupid Kid That Committed That Terrible Crime. I Want To Talk To Him. I Want To Try To Talk Some Sense To Him. Tell Him The Way Things Are. But I Can't. That Kid's Long Gone, And This Old Man Is All That's Left.

The Greatest Mystery The Universe Offers Is Not Life But Size.

Everything Is Sort Of Built In A Way That To Me Suggests Intelligent Design. But At The Same Time, There's A Lot Of Things In Life Where You Say To Yourself, Well, If This Is God's Plan, It's Very Peculiar. And You Have To Wonder About That Guy's Personality, The Big Guy's Personality.

I Have Spent A Good Many Years Since―too Many, I Think―being Ashamed About What I Write. I Think I Was Forty Before I Realized That Almost Every Writer Of Fiction Or Poetry Who Has Ever Published A Line Has Been Accused By Someone Of Wasting His Or Her God-given Talent. If You Write (or Paint Or Dance Or Sculpt Or Sing, I Suppose), Someone Will Try To Make You Feel Lousy About It, That's All.