Spare the child and spoil the rod, I am not sellin' myself to god.

Patti, did art get us?' I looked away, not really wanting to think about it. 'I don't know, Robert. I don't know.' Perhaps it did, but no one could regret that. Only a fool would regret being had by art; or a saint.

It was like being at an Arabian hoedown with a band of psychedelic hillbillies (p. 171).

I refuse to believe that Hendrix had the last possessed hand, that Joplin had the last drunken throat, that Morrison had the last enlightened mind.

I've never felt grounded because of my ancestry or my gender. I think until women get away from that they're not going to be great writers.

Nothing is a hobby - each discipline is its own world with its own high standards. Of course, every artist has 'minor works' that they do, but I don't think I have any 'minor disciplines.'

If the postman is saying hello to you, then I feel like, wow, thats something special.