People like to complain about the state of contemporary literature, but I can only assume they don't read it very widely.

For while agents and editors often misunderstand their market and sometimes reject good or even great works, they do prevent a vast quantity of truly execrable writing from being published.

The closer and more completely you can come to explaining what a work of art means, the less like art it seems.

The past is a very determined ghost, haunting every chance it gets.

But there is so much more to do for the city we love... a Dallas with roads as strong as our businesses, parks as beautiful as our children, a downtown as tall as our imagination.

Every small town that I had ever been to had had a caboose.

Do the children who prefer books set in the real, ordinary, workaday world ever read as obsessively as those who would much rather be transported into other worlds entirely?