There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out.

And if there is anybody out there who is crazy enough to want to become a writer, I'd say go ahead, spit in the eye of the sun, hit those keys, it's the best madness going, the centuries need help, the species cry for light and gamble and laughter. Give it to them. There are enough words for all of us.

What a weary time those years were -- to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.

Hemingway and Saroyan had the line, the magic of it. The problem was that Hemingway didn't know how to laugh and Saroyan was filled with sugar.

They never pay the slaves enough so they can get free, just enough so they can stay alive and come back to work.

Do some living and get yourself a typewriter.

If you can only remain pure in your stupidity, someday you may get a phone call from hell.