To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on nine different floors.

We thought of wine as something as healthy and normal as food and also as a great giver of happiness and well being and delight.

The parody is the last refuge of the frustrated writer. Parodies are what you write when you are associate editor of the Harvard Lampoon. The greater the work of literature, the easier the parody. The step up from writing parodies is writing on the wall above the urinal.

The fact that I am interrupting serious work to answer these questions proves that I am so stupid that I should be penalized severely. I will be. Don't worry.

Writing, at its best, is a lonely life.

Creation's probably overrated. After all, God made the world in only six days and rested on the seventh.

People who write fiction, if they had not taken it up, might have become very successful liars.