This is a writer’s lesson: To learn that the sounds that we imagine can be the clearest, loudest sounds of all.

I think that was when the headmaster realized he had lost; he realized then that he was finished. Because, what could he do? Was he going to tell us to stop praying? We kept our heads bowed; and we kept praying. Even as awkward as he was, the Rev. Mr. Merrill had made it clear to us that there was no end to praying for Owen Meany.

Along the (writing) way accidents happen, detours get taken... But these are not "divine" accidents; I don't believe in those. I believe you have constructive accidents en route through a novel only because you have mapped a clear way. If you have confidence that you have a clear direction to take, you always have confidence to explore other ways; if they prove to be mere digressions, you'll recognize that and make the necessary revisions. The more you know about a book, the freer you can be to fool around. The less you know, the tighter you get.

Writing a novel is actually searching for victims. As I write I keep looking for casualties. The stories uncover the casualties.

You live your life at the time you live it -- you don't have much of an overview when what's happening to you is still happening.

Everybody dies … The thing is, to have a life before we die.

When you legislate personal belief, you're in violation of freedom of religion.