We commit our crimes at night and reveal ourselves in the high noon of studio lights.
Facts are lonely things.
Was she naked?" Lasher said. "To the waist," Cotsakis said. "From which direction?" Lasher said.
One of my earliest memories as a reader - I don't know how old I was, quite young - was a poem of his, called "Fog," and I remember the first verse, "The fog comes / on little cat feet".
Why are homosexuals addicted to soap opera? Because our lives are a vivid situation.
I didn’t do anything. I don’t have an explanation, I don’t know why I wanted to write. I did some short stories at that time, but very infrequently. I quit my job just to quit. I didn’t quit my job to write fiction. I just didn’t want to work anymore