Happiness Is Often At Its Most Intense

A Writer Writes A Book. People Read It. You Don't Know What They're Reading, Really. You Read A Review And Think, "that Is So Inaccurate. You Can't Have Been Reading My Book With Any Kind Of Attention, Because That Is All Wrong, That's Even The Wrong Name You're Including There." But These Reviewers Have Been Diminished In Importance, The Work Is So Little Respected. If You're Reviewed By A Real Critic, By James Wood Or Louis Menand, Then You Get Something That Is Informed, Interesting, And Highly Articulate. But The Average Review Doesn't Have That Kind Of Depth Anymore.

When I'm Filling Notebooks I'm Trying To Pin Down What I'm Really Interested In And To Find Those Details That Are So Hard To Come By, Details That I Can Look At And Believe Are Right On The Mark. Things Which Bring A Novel To Life. They Can Take A While To Come.

God Is The God Of The People Who Are At Their Wits End, Who Are Right Up Against It With Their Backs To The Wall, And He Delights To Come To Our Help When We Need Him Most.

Life Is Weather. Life Is Meals.

As I Look Back, I See That Life Is Like A Game Of Solitaire And Every Once In A While There Is A Move.