Don't cook that chicken - it still has feathers.

A little is fine, but the minute you start believing that you've picked the only right one out of the 4,200 or so on offer, you need to get a grip on yourself. Once you start thinking that it's okay to hate someone that chose one of the 4,199 others... snap out of it.

Don't cook that chicken - it still has feathers.

Spending the day with you has been marginally better than watching mother die of cancer.

I adore [my son]. I wouldn't trade him in for a Pulitzer - unless someone actually offered that as an option.

Writing is nothing less than thought transference, the ability to send one's ideas out into the world, beyond time and distance, taken at the value of the words, unbound from the speaker.

The only thing that matters is what you do now, here.