As I look back, I see that life is like a game of solitaire and every once in a while there is a move.

On the Internet, everyone is writing. There is a great flowering of writing.

I am afraid of him, of all men who are successful in love.

I'd given up everything to be a writer, and if I didn't then go on to do that - to write - then I didn't know what would happen to me.

Love must wait; it must break one’s bones.

In 1957, I decided: write or perish.

But that isn't my life. I have said many times I don't want to be considered one who once flew fighters. That's not who I am. I devoted the subsequent 50 years - more - to writing.