When a reader finishes a wonderful story and lays it aside, he should have to pause for a minute and collect himself.

There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?

In the beginning, when I was trying to write, I couldnt turn off the outside world to the extent that I can now.

Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read.

Ralph also took some classes in philosophy and literature and felt himself on the brink of some kind of huge discovery about himself. But it never came.

I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.

Remember Haydn's 104 symphonies. Not all of them were great. But there were 104 of them.