Whatever one intends, the work takes on a life of its own.

It seems to me that the problem with diaries, and the reason that most of them are so boring, is that every day we vacillate between examining our hangnails and speculating on cosmic order.

I am not alone in bearing grudges against reviewers who have doomed a book's chances because they've missed the point, the tone, everything.

Nobody can assume that, to a writer, everything is off-limits.

I don't even correct people when they mispronounce my name now.

Falling in Place was meant to be very much rooted in a place and time, and music was a part of that.

Clichés so often befall vain people.