I don't write about certain arguments I have with my wife. I'd get my head torn off if wrote about certain things.

I felt more alone that week than any. Sometimes I'd feel a body lying next to me like an amputee feels a phantom limb. All I did was think about Jennie Gerhardt and Alice Quinn and all the decades of people I had known. The more I thought, the more I felt like crying. Life seemed so sweet and so sad, and so hard to let go of in the end. But hey, man, every day is a brand new deal, right? Just keep on working and something's bound to turn up.

I think you can find all the elements that you can find in great literature in mundane experiences.

Misery loves company. There's a lot to that.

I really don't have a lot in common with the people who attend the Comic Con. It's like assuming that all people who write prose are the same.

It didnt take long to establish myself, as far as people thinking my work was good. They liked it from the start.

I don't write about certain arguments I have with my wife. I'd get my head torn off if wrote about certain things.