Most writers are secretly worried that they're not really writers. That it's all been happenstance, something came together randomly, the letters came together, and they won't coalesce ever again.

I woke up thinking a very pleasant thought. There is lots left in the world to read.

Updike was the first to take the penile sensorium under the wing of elaborate metaphorical prose.

Most writers are secretly worried that they're not really writers. That it's all been happenstance, something came together randomly, the letters came together, and they won't coalesce ever again.

Sometimes, despite the fact that you're reading through masses of material, you just can't not think about a certain event, for it seems to capture the reality of the entire situation so much better than any set of statistics.

Rarely do pens go dry in restaurants.

You can tell it's a poem because it's swimming in a little gel pack of white space. That shows it's a poem.