I'm Weary Of The Battle. But A

It Came To Me That Hell Would Not Be Fire And Smoke After All But Arctic, Everything White And Frigid. Hell Would Be Not Anger But Indifference.

You Could Reason With Someone Who Was Halfway Educated And Appeal To His Intelligence, But I Felt Helpless In The Face Of Utter Stupidity.

I Can't Remember A Time When I Wasn't Trying To Get Something Down On Paper.

I Take Real People And Put Them In Extraordinary Situations.

There Is Very Little That Is Accidental In My Work. I Believe In Serendipity For Developments Of Plot, But The Actual Writing Is Arrived At By Very Hard Work. The Joy Of Writing Doesn't Mean That You Don't Get The Backaches And Headaches And The Days When It's Not Coming.