There is a problem in America. An Irish or Polish American can write a story and it's an American story. When a Black American writes a story, it's called a Black story. I take exception to that. Every artist has articulated to his own experience. The problem is that some people do not see Blacks as Americans.

You can't teach talent. You can't put in what God left out - but you can teach confidence.

Writers are voracious readers. Once I unlocked the mystery of the alphabet that led to words, a multitude of words connecting me to the world, there was no stopping me. Everything was fair game, from Louisa May Alcott to my older cousin's True Romance Magazines, from Lewis Carroll to the backs of cereal boxes. All of this fed me, but it took certain books to make me grow. I don't want to work without a sense of drama, without passion, or without both eyes open to the world around me.

That's one of the privileges of old age - you can give plenty of advice 'cause most folks think that's all you got left anyway.

The music in his laughter had a way of rounding off the missing notes in her soul.

Why do I write? The truth, the unvarnished truth, is that I haven't a clue.

The last time you're doing something - knowing you're doing it for the last - makes it even more alive than the first.