I've never cackled with laughter at a single line I've ever written. None of it has given me pleasure.

I stood face to face with the moon and the ocean and the future that spread out with all its bewildering immensity before me.

She had awakened something in him that had slumbered far too long. Not only did he feel passion, he felt the return of hope.

Without music, life is a journey through a desert.

I still write in long hand. I type like a chimpanzee.

It is the secret life that sustains me now, and as I reach the top of that bridge I say it in a whisper, I say it as a prayer, as regret, and as praise. I can't tell you why I do it or what it means, but each night when I drive toward my southern home and my southern life, I whisper these words: 'Lowenstein, Lowenstein.

My mother thought of my father as half barbarian and half blunt instrument, and she isolated him from his children.