Of course when you were running with the bottom dogs, what you mostly saw were paws, claws, and assholes.

The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor.

On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and He asks me why did I kill one of his true miracles, what am I gonna say? That it was my job? My job?

After the 9/11 apocalypse happened in New York City, people, particularly New Yorkers, who breathed in the ash, or saw the results of that, have a tendency to keep seeing echoes and having flashbacks to it.

Why' is a crooked letter and can't be made straight.

Somebody asked Somerset Maugham about his place in the pantheon of writers, and he said, "I'm in the very front row of the second rate." I'm sort of haunted by that.

It was like drowning, only from the inside out.