Any thoughts of guilt, any feelings of regret, had faded. The desert had baked them out.

Life is like a wheel. Sooner or later, it always come around to where you started again.

Most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don’t understand very much about what they do—not why it works when it’s good, not why it doesn’t when it’s bad.

the year she had run fleetly through the dewy grass under the moon- the night of wine, when dreams condensed out of thin air like the nightmilk of fantasy.

It is, after all, the dab of grit that seeps into an oyster's shell that makes the pearl, not pearl-making seminars with other oysters.

It don't matter if you believe in God Nick, he believes in you.

What we like to think of ourselves and what we really are rarely have much in common.