Every book takes me from 35 to 41 days to write. I don't know why that is. I've tried to get it down to 30 or 31, depending on the length of the month, but it won't work. I don't drink while I'm writing because it fuddles my logical processes, but when I finish a book I go down to the kitchen and pour myself a big belt.

Subtlety chases the obvious up a never-ending spiral and never quite catches it.

As between the intolerable and the merely distasteful, I must choose the latter.

We are all vainer of our luck than of our merits.

The only thing I want is something I can't have; and that is to know if, 100 years from now, people will still buy my books.

A character who is thought-out is not born, he or she is contrived. A born character is round, a thought-out character is flat.

Afraid? I can dodge folly without backing into fear.