I know this much: if you gotta write, honey, you gotta write. Some call it a disease, some a madness. Ah, but I call it love.

Poverty made me feel weak, as if I were coming down with an awful, debilitating, communicable disease - the disease of being without money. Instead of going to the hospital, you went to the poor farm. The difference was, you never got well at the poor farm.

I always fantasized about having a girl stand on my bar like in that movie Coyote Ugly, but I never thought it would happen.

Part of the business of being an artist is abetting talent. The best do that.

For my money, there are no more fascinating, hard-working, vulnerable creatures on earth than writers. Every day, they lay their souls out there for public approval or rejection.

Chemistry's a tricky thing, and if I'm not feeling it, I'm not gonna pretend.

I'm making out with a dead girl in my dreams. I'm screwing women I have no business screwing. I'm pushing away the one person who actually gives a damn about me. It's like the Bermuda Triangle of heartache and I'm sinking fast.