You do it a day at a time. You write as well as you can, you put it in the mail, you leave it under submission, you never leave it at home.

I wouldn't write anything autobiographical. If you've lived a life like Laurence of Arabia, it might be a consideration, but otherwise it's a little bit vain, it seems to me.

You do it a day at a time. You write as well as you can, you put it in the mail, you leave it under submission, you never leave it at home.

Age is a peculiar kind of thief. It slips up on you and steps inside your skin and is so quiet and methodical in its work that you never realize it has stolen your youth until you look into the mirror one morning and see a man you don't recognize.

I looked at Lucas with the pang that a parent feels when he knows his child will be hurt and that it's no one's fault and that to try to preempt the rites of passage is an act of contempt for the child's courage.

You do it a day at a time. You just put your rejection slips in a shoebox and tell yourself one day you're going to autograph them and sell them at auction.

You have two choices in life. You either die or do something with your time. You're going to be doing something - why not write?