How wonderful it was to love something without the compromise of language.

I've never felt influenced by Ernest Hemingway though I suppose there is something inevitable there.

Wherever we go we do harm, forgiving ourselves as wheels do cement for wearing each other out. We set this house on fire, forgetting that we live within. (from "To a Meadowlark," for M.L. Smoker)

Writers can write outside their ethnicity or sex depending how open and vulnerable they wish to be.

The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don't do it unless you're willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps.

I have closely noted that people who watch a great deal of TV never again seem able to adjust to the actual pace of life. The speed of the passing images becomes the speed the aspire to and they seem to develop an impatience and boredom with anything else.

We are all naturally xenophobic.