Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read. Fought against it for a minute. Then looked out the window at the rain. And gave over. Put myself entirely in the keep of this rainy morning. Would I live my life over again? Make the same unforgivable mistakes? Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

There's literary creation and literary business. When I first got something accepted, it gave my life a validation it didn't otherwise have.

My circumstances of unrelieved responsibility and permanent distraction necessitated the short story form.

He wondered if she wondered if he were watching her.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.

That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me.