Writing is never, ever easy but I wake up every morning grateful for the gift of being able to do this.

I have always argued, in a good novel, interesting things happen to interesting people.

You'd never killed anyone. Then you had.

But if you couldn't do everything, did that mean you did nothing?

The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.

A hand fought best when it made a fist.

Irritation for some men was their response to strain.