Even if your goose habitually lays golden eggs, it will still be cooked.

I am remarkably likeable. Few people have ever been as likeable as I am. There is, frankly, no end to my likeability. People gather together in public assemblies to discuss how much they like me. I have several awards, and a small medal from a small country in South America which pays tribute both to how much I am liked and my general all around wonderfulness. I don't have it on me, of course. I keep my medals in my sock drawer.

What do I do now?” “I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role.

People tend to find books when they are ready for them.

I wondered if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped up in adult bodies, like children's books hidden in the middle of dull, long adult books, the kind with no pictures or conversations.

Nothing I did where the only reason for doing it was the money was ever worth it, except as bitter experience.

Writing is flying in dreams. When you remember. When you can. When it works. It's that easy.