How can the planet keep turning and turning and not get so bored it explodes?

It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.

I imagine most of that stuff on the information highway is roadkill anyway.

I would especially like to re-court the Muse of poetry, who ran off with the mailman four years ago, and drops me only a scribbled postcard from time to time.

Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.

I will try not to panic, to keep my standard of living modest and to work steadily, even shyly, in the spirit of those medieval carvers who so fondly sculpted the undersides of choir seats.

Fiction is very greedy. It will take all you know and then some. The first novel I tried to write, I was struck by this - the appetite of the blank page for ever more information, ever more data. An empty book is a greedy thing. You are right: You wind up using everything you know, and often more than once.