Detroit, my 'great' subject, made me the person I am, consequently the writer I am - for better or worse.

The strangeness of Time. Not in its passing, which can seem infinite, like a tunnel whose end you can't see, whose beginning you've forgotten, but in the sudden realization that something finite, has passed, and is irretrievable.

It's not hard to write poorly. But to write something good, it has to be revised.

When writing goes painfully, when it’s hideously difficult, and one feels real despair (ah, the despair, silly as it is, is real!)–then naturally one ought to continue with the work; it would be cowardly to retreat. But when writing goes smoothly–why then one certainly should keep on working, since it would be stupid to stop. Consequently one is always writing or should be writing.

Only when you have completed a novel, or a story, can you return to the beginning and revise or rewrite.

The greatest works of literature seem to embody both "art" and "morality".

One writes to memorialize, and to bring to life again that which has been lost.