Whatever Is Not An Energy Source, Is

I Wasn't Afraid Of Being Poor; I Rather Took It For Granted. I Was Good At Getting By With Very Little. I Couldn't Imagine Sacrificing My Writing To Anything Else.

Your Anger Was A Climate I Inhabited Like A Desert In A Dry Frigid Weather Of High Thin Air And Ivory Sun, Sand Dunes The Wind Lifted Into Stinging Clouds That Blinded And Choked Me Where The Only Ice Was In The Blood.

The Art Of Fiction Is One Of Constant Seduction. You Must Persuade The Reader On Page 1 To Start Reading - On Page 50, Or Page 150 And Yes, On Page 850.

Doorways Are Sacred To Women For We Are The Doorways Of Life And We Must Choose What Comes In And What Goes Out.

I'm Probably The Only Novelist Who Has Ever Written About Political Fugitives Who Actually Knew A Lot About Them, Had Contact With Them, And Had A Realistic Notion Of How They Survived.