He Pulled Himself Out Of Hard Times,

I Don't Think You Can Write - At Least Not Well - If You Don't Love Stories, Love The Written Word.

I Hate Patience. Slows Everything Down.

Marriage Is A Land Mine. A Really Intimate Land Mine. Adultery To Kitchen Fires. Never A Dull [moment].

She Gazed Toward The Marsh That Grew Thicker, Deeper, Greener With Approaching Summer. Mosquitoes Whined In There, Breeding In The Dark Water. Alligators Slid Through It, Silent Death. It Was A Place Where Snakes Could Slither And Bogs Could Suck The Shoe Right Off Your Foot. And It Was A Place, She Thought, That Went Bright And Beautiful With The Twinkling Of Fireflies, Where Wildflowers Thrived In The Shade And The Stingy Light. Where An Eagle Could Soar Like A King. There Was No Beauty Without Risk. No Life Without It.

People Who Say Not To Speak Ill Of The Dead Are Hypocrites, Because You Can Take It Ot The Bank They're Thinking Ill.