I lost my job and started painting houses with a friend. The marriage had ended about the same time the career did.

Love is always a surprise and you never get it right.

I used to believe that love and happiness were synonymous. I was a fool. Love intensifies all emotions. Nothing is so painful o so sweet, so thrilling or so desperate... Pleasure is, after all, a luxury. It's love thats essential. You are never so alive as when you love, never so alert, intuitive, attentive, never so smart or so compassionate.

You will feel discouraged; you will lose confidence in your abilities; you will be bored with the characters–and the only way to overcome these obstacles is to write your way through them. And writing always works.

The facts, however, are unimportant in fiction. It's not the events of my life that I mine, but the emotional experiences I've had.

At the heart of all good fiction and at the heart of all good gossip is the same thing: trouble.

A pure love is a selfless love, but can desire ever be selfless?