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!

I changed it. I had to. Do you know why?" She studied him, her eyes grave. "Because that was then and this is now. Because the past is gone, even though it defines the present.

I'm seen as somebody who writes for adults because I'm an older man myself. Some of them find me, and a lot of them don't.

Some tears have to be cried no matter what the hour- until they are, they simply rave and burn inside.

Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark.

Read a lot, write a lot is the great commandment.

Guys like Henry and his buddies were an accident waiting to happen; the little kids' version of floods or tornadoes or gallstones.