We didn't starve but nobody ate chicken unless we were sick or the chicken was.

The wild begins where you least expect it, one step off your normal course

A man is an island in the only sense that matters, not an easy way to be. We live in mystery, a cosmos of separate lonely bodies, men, insects, stars. It is all loneliness and men know it best.

How can we be strangers if we both believe in God?

It was all those biographies in me yelling, 'We want out. We want to tell you what we've done to you.'

Writers who can't invent stories often substitute style for narrative. They remind me of the painter who couldn't paint people, so he painted chairs.

No use fanning up hot coals when you have to walk across them.