No, I Said. I Didn't Remember That.

If I Told You About All The Stories I Don't Tell, I Would Be Violating The Very Boundaries I Set For Myself.

I'd Known Enough Flush Times And Lean Ones To Understand That Money Came And Went. And That One Day I'd Also Lose My Looks, My Seemingly Boundless Energy And Maybe The Ability To Catch The Eye Of An Attractive Man And The Audacity To Rollerblade. My Name Would Be Forgotten. So Would Bad Reviews, And Good Ones. But Loving A Child Is Something That Lasts. Long After All The Rest Is Gone, That's What Endures.

The Painter Who Feels Obligated To Depict His Subjects As Uniformly Beautiful Or Handsome And Without Flaws Will Fall Short Of Making Art.

A Person Who Deserves My Loyalty Receives It.

I Think Of Myself As A Realistic Writer, Not A Creator Of Soap Opera Or Melodrama.