I have learned not to read reviews. Period. And I hate reviewers. All of them, or at least all but two or three. Life is much simpler ignoring reviews and the nasty people who write them. Critics should find meaningful work.

The good thing about writing fiction is that you can get back at people.

Privileged people don't march and protest; their world is safe and clean and governed by laws designed to keep them happy.

We cuss them because we're not good enough for them. We hate them because they wouldn't look at us, couldn't be bothered to give us an interview. I guess there's a Trent & Brent in every city, in every field. I didn't make it and I don't belong, so I'll just go through life hating them.

How could homosexuals possibly srew up the sanctity of marriage any worse than heterosexuals?

I learned that lesson a long time ago. When you write popular fiction, you're going to get bashed by critics.

There are few writers who, if they publish anything, I am going to buy it: Ian McEwan, Scott Turow, Pat Conroy - he was a buddy of mine and I always read his stuff. Also: Harlan Coben, Elmore Leonard, John Le Carre, but he's pushing ninety.