And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has been awarded us. Life asks for rewards back because it has favored us with animation. So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

Man has always been half-monster, half-dreamer.

Most of my short stories are fantasy.

The books leapt and danced like roasted birds, their wings ablaze with red and yellow feathers.

A book has got to smell. You have to hold it in your hands and pray to it.

The purpose of fiction is not to nail you to the ground as facts do, but to take you to the edge of the cliff and kick you off so you build your wings on the way down.

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.