I like the idea of a writer being haunted by his own creation, especially if the writer resents the way the character defines him.

Women aren't very bright," Rip says. "Studies have been done.

By the time you finish reading this sentence, a Boeing jetliner will take off or land somewhere in the world.

I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.

I think we've all lost some kind of feeling.

The seals stupidly dive off rocks into swirling black water, barking mindlessly. The zookeepers feed them dead fish. A crowd gathers around the tank, mostly adults, a few accompanied by children. On the seals' tank a plaque warns: COINS CAN KILL——IF SWALLOWED, COINS CAN LODGE IN AN ANIMAL'S STOMACH AND CAUSE ULCERS, INFECTIONS AND DEATH. DO NOT THROW COINS IN THE POOL. So what do I do? Toss a handful of change into the tank when none of the zookeepers are watching. It's not the seals I hate——it's the audience's enjoyment of them that bothers me.

I wasn't acting on passion. I was simply acting.