The writer operates at a peculiar crossroads where time and place and eternity somehow meet. His problem is to find that location.

The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled.

I am not afraid that the book will be controversial, I'm afraid it will not be controversial.

So many people can now write competent stories that the short story is in danger of dying of competence.

You ought to be able to discover something from your stories. If you don't, probably nobody else will.

Right now the whole world seems to be going through a dark night of the soul.

The old woman was the kind who would not cut down a large old tree because it was a large old tree.