I try to write about the stuff that torments us all.

I did it at night because I loved it. I never did it to make money, as a job. I just did it because I had to.

I try to write about the stuff that torments us all.

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

Love is quite violent. It is so painful at times, so devastating. And there is nothing worse or better. We find the highs and lows equally unbearable. But then again, the absence of them is more so.

You can have anything you want, if you go out and get it. If you claim it as your own. You have a right to it.

I'm not an aging gracefully type. But I do believe in aging with grace.