I sometimes confuse myself with the little I know.

Children were strangers you loved because you could love. If they gave back love when they were grown you were ahead of the game.

The past exudes legend: one can't make pure clay of time's mud. There is no life that can be recaptured wholly; as it was.Which is to say that all biography is ultimately fiction.

Revision is one of the exquisite pleasures of writing.

The short story packs a self in a few pages predicating a lifetime

I work with language. I love the flowers of afterthought.

Of course it would cost something, but he was an expert in cutting corners; and when there were no more corners left he would make circles rounder.