Wherein we discover that many of the "rules" for good writing and good sex are the same: Keep your hand moving, lose control, and don't think.

We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded.

In a way, the cancer became an ally because it stopped me from running around so much. I was able to settle down and write things I hadn't had a chance to before.

Be tough in the way a blade of grass is: rooted, willing to lean, and at peace with what is around it.

Great lovers realize that they are what they are in love with.

Writing is the crack through which you can crawl into a bigger world, into your wild mind.

I remember a friend many years ago who had taped a sign to his refrigerator: There's a dream dreaming us. If you try to think about what that means it makes your mind silly, but that silliness is good.