A whole tree of lightning stood in the sky. She kept looking out the window, suffused with the warmth from the fire and with the pity and beauty and power of her death. The thunder rolled.

No blur of inexactness, no cloud of vagueness, is allowable in good writing; from the first seeing to the last putting down, there must be steady lucidity and uncompromise of purpose.

Look for where the sky is brightest along the horizon. That reflects the nearest river. Strike out for a river and you will find habitation.

A story is not the same thing when it ends as it was when it began.

Any room in our house at any time in the day was there to read in or to be read to.

I like the feeling of being able to confront an experience and resolve it as art.

Never think you've seen the last of anything.