You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.

How hard can it be to find a girl and an elephant for Christ's sake?

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.

After sixty-one years together, she simply clutched my hand and exhaled.

Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?

I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so.