I believe in walking out of a museum before the paintings you've seen begin to run together. How else can you carry anything away with you in your mind's eye?

I keep telling myself I should try very hard to write a novel of about 210 pages... I don't seem to be capable of it, but I keep hoping it will happen.

As you know, human history is full of evil deeds, and maybe we ought to think of them with tears, not fascination.

My guess is that he remembers some of me, some of us together, and the rest rolled off him like topsoil in a flash flood.

Then you must say to her, 'Madame, I observe that your heart is broken. Allow me to repair it for you.

My publishers are wonderful because they have let me write what I wanted to. They're wise enough to know that, with any author who's not simply writing formulas - who's trying to create something new - pressuring them to do something for market purposes almost always backfires. I can't imagine working under those circumstances, actually.

He brought his great hand to rest on an early edition of Bram Stoker's novel and smiled, but said nothing. Then he moved quietly away into another section.