I love visiting LA. It's an endlessly fascinating city, and is, of course, America's entertainment capital. Each time I go, I fall in love with it all over again. That said, it's not the sort of place I'd want to live.

I don't care about the little guy. I just hate the big guy. I hate big smug people who think they can get away with things.

Many years from now when your children ask what New York City was like just after 9/11, this will be the book you give them in response. It's an exquisite novel full of heart, soul, passion and intelligence, and it's the one this great New York author was born to write.

I don't need validation, recognition or praise. What I need are facts and the facts are that one of my books gets sold, somewhere in the world, every second.

I have three desks. One empty for paperwork, one for the internet and email, and one for the writing computer.

A handgun at two hundred feet is the same thing as crossing your fingers and making a wish.

It's a kind of zen question: if you write a book and no one reads it, is it really a book?