My early reviews were so bad that I decided I didn't want to read them again.

Somebody once said to me that photography and writing don't get respect because people think that they can do it, too.

I decided I would never do interviews again.

What’s ready? Was Steinback ready? Hemingway? Shakespeare? Dickens? Jane Austen? They just did it, didn’t they?

Somehow you drift along on the river, and one day you wake up and you’re someplace you don’t want to be, with someone you realize you don’t know.

I've shut myself inside these walls, and I'm going to be a very lonely old lady if I'm not careful.

If you let anything infringe on your writing time, it will. And you won't get the writing done. Taking one day off can cost me five days of getting back in the mood. Going out to lunch can cost me anywhere from five hours to three days. And for me it's not worth it. For my own sense of well-being I have to finish my work before I can play.