How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or your real hatred somehow got onto the paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like a lightning bolt?

Write a short story every week. It's not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row.

I often wonder if God recognizes His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down?

See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream.

So in sum, what are we? We are the creatures that know and know too much. That leaves us with such a burden again we have a choice, to laugh or cry. No other animal does either. We do, depending on the season and the need.

What should I do?" "Throw up in your typewriter every morning." "Yeah." "Clean up every noon.

Suddenly the day was gone, night came out from under each tree and spread.