I still do a weekly opinion column for the Miami Herald, and it's like shooting fish in a barrel. Rotten fish.

The evening news made her wonder if God was dead; the morning sun made her believe He wasn't.

I’m waiting for the day when Rush Limbaugh’s pharmacist writes a book.

My books are character-driven. They're not driven by the story.

I was born and raised here [in Florida], so I still have tremendous affection for the state - especially the few wild places that haven't disappeared under concrete. What's left is still worth fighting for, and that's why I stay.

Unfortunately, I don't get to read nearly as much as I want because I'm always working on my own stuff, either the novels or newspaper columns.

That's the thing about being a Labrador retriever - you were born for fun. Seldom was your loopy, freewheeling mind cluttered by contemplation, and never at all by somber worry; every day was a romp. What else could there possibly be to life? Eating was a thrill. Pissing was a treat. Shitting was a joy. And licking your own balls? Bliss. And everywhere you went were gullible humans who patted and hugged and fussed over you.