I imagine a child. That child is me. I can reconstruct and vividly remember portions of my own childhood. I can see, taste, smell, feel, and hear them. Then what I do is, not write about that kid or about his world, but start to think of a book that would have pleased him.

Today is the yesterday you won't remember tomorrow.

All my books were easy to write - doesn't it show?

Hoboken is a neat place.

Looking back over my life so far I am able to remember specific days that were perfect. These tend to be days, and parts of days, in which nothing in particular happened, except that I was utterly happy.

Trust me, there is no formula for most things that are not math.

Chickens have an uncanny sense of direction.