Life Is Just A Short Period Of

When I Was A Child... I Was Watching A Snowstorm, And Hopefully Asked, 'momma, Do We Believe In Winter?'

I Don't Wish To Be A Slave Any Longer To The Stringent Exigencies Of Literature.

Literature Got Me Into This Mess And Literature Is Going To Have To Get Me Out Of It.

At A Certain Stage Of Misery, You'll Try Anything To Explain What's Going On With You, Even If You Know It Doesn't Explain A Thing And It's One Failed Explanation After Another.

What I Would Really Love To Happen To Me Would Be If I Came Upon An Idea That Would Keep Me Busy Until I Die So I Wouldn't Have To Go Through The Business Of Thinking Up A New Book. But I Wouldn't Mind Writing A Long Book Which Is Going To Occupy Me For The Rest Of My Life.