If the writer does not cry, the reader does not cry.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.

Don't join too many gangs. Join few if any. Join the United States and join the family- But not much in between unless a college.

Nothing flatters me more than to have it assumed that I could write prose, unless it be to have it assumed that I once pitched a baseball with distinction.

Any work of art must first of all tell a story.

Only God and I knew what I meant when I wrote it, now only God knows

Life is tons of discipline.