He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for... and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.

If you were a real fascistic society and you had a vocal minority that was shouting, "Stop this, stop that, stop the other thing," what you would say is, "Let's give them all the drugs they want." In a lot of states, something very much like that happened. They lowered the drinking age to eighteen and said, "Get juiced."

Hapscomb's Texaco sat on Number 93 just north of Arnette, a pissant four-street burg about 110 miles from Houston.

As a young man just beginning to publish some short fiction in the t&a magazines, I was fairly optimistic about my chances of getting published; I knew that I had some game, as the basketball players say these days, and I also felt that time was on my side; sooner or later the best-selling writers of the sixties and seventies would either die or go senile, making room for newcomers like me.

Writing is like sex. The more you think about it, the harder it is to do. It's better not to think about it so much and just let it happen.

Why does everyone think that I am a cruel and insensitive man? I mean, come on, I have kids... on my desk in little jars!