How evanescent those loves and friendships seem at this distance in time…We move on, make new attachments. We grow old. But sometimes, we hanker for old friendships, the old loves. Sometimes I wish I was young again. Or that I could travel back in time and pick up the threads. Absent so long, I may have stopped loving you, friends; but I will never stop loving the Day I loved you.

Normally writers do not talk much,because they are saving their conversations for the readers of their book- those invisible listeners with whom we wish to strike a sympathetic chord.

I was nostalgic even as a young man. Preferred listening to Opera not Bing Crossby.

Live long, my friend, be wise and strong. But do not from any man his song.

When I write I just keep a waste paper basket handy in case I am experiencing a block.

I have come to believe that the best kind of walk, or journey, is the one in which you have no particular destination when you set out.

Readers want more of the same from you. So stick to one genre.