If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.

Absence may or may not make the heart grow fonder, but it certainly freshens the eye.

Tell him he's wrong. Tell him that even if he's right about waiting, he's right for the wrong reasons, and that makes him all the way wrong.

I'm one of those people who doesn't really know what he thinks until he writes it down.

Try any goddam thing you like, no matter how boringly normal or outrageous. If it works, fine. If it doesn't, toss it. Toss it even if you love it.

Mornings belong to whatever is new; the current composition. Afternoons are for naps and letters.

What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?