The pace of life feels morally dangerous to me.

It is no loss to mankind when one writer decides to call it a day. When a tree falls in the forest, who cares but the monkeys?

Paul Ryan, he is the real evil genius of the Republican party. He with his little hateful widow's peak and his smirky, snarly, simpering non-entity self, that's who I detest. Trump's just a moron, but Ryan is ugly and evil.

I have a theory... that someplace at the heart of most compelling stories is something that doesn't make sense.

Writing is the only thing I've ever done with persistence, except for being married.

The art of living your life has a lot to do with getting over loss. The less the past haunts you, the better.

Even though I get a lot done with my solitude, and I make the best use of it possible, I always think solitude is an interlude in a period of time, which is populated by others.