A day without writing was a little death.

He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now collapsing and now blown out.

Out in the world not much happened. But here in the special night, a land bricked with paper and leather anything might happen, always did.

A conglomerate heap of trash, that's what I am. But it burns with a high flame.

I’ve learned that by doing things, things get done.

You don't pay any attention to anything anyone else says, no opinions. The important thing is to explode with a story, to emotionalize a story, not to think it. You start thinking - the story's going to die on its feet.

I don't write science fiction. I've only done one science fiction book and that's Fahrenheit 451, based on reality. Science fiction is a depiction of the real. Fantasy is a depiction of the unreal.