The late afternoon sunlight, warm as oil, sweet as childhood.

I don't really map anything out. I just let it happen [while writing]. But once it happens, it's always there. If it's laid, it's played. If I get to page 300 and it's not working, I junk it.

They're animals, all right. But why are you so goddam sure that makes us human beings?

I can see your dirtypillows.

I'm seen as somebody who writes for adults because I'm an older man myself. Some of them find me, and a lot of them don't.

It's a hard life if you don't weaken.

If I kept saying it; if I kept reaching out. My accident really taught me just one thing: the only way to go on is to go on. To say 'I can do this' even when you know you can't.