Love among the ruins... I'll tell you something, my friend: Weird love's better than no love at all.

I don't want to speak too disparagingly of my generation (actually I do, we had a chance to change the world but opted for the Home Shopping Network Instead).

Story is honorable and trustworthy; plot is shifty, and best kept under house arrest.

The sun was a molten coin burning a circle in the low-hanging overcast, surrounded by a fairy-ring of moisture.

As a rule, I don't worry about genre. I just want to tell a good story, with characters that interest me and my readers.

Working with him was sort of like trying to defuse a bomb with somebody standing behind you and every now and then clashing a pair of cymbals together. In a word, upsetting.

Mister, we deal in lead.