I started writing seriously when I was about 12. I am always in the mood.

I am, when you stop to think of it, a member of a fairly select group: the final handful of American novelists who learned to read and write before they learned to eat a daily helping of video bullshit.

no one dies happy, you can only die well

Thin clouds form, and the shadows lengthen out. They have no breadth, as summer shadows have; there are no leaves on the trees or fat clouds in the sky to make them thick. They are gaunt, mean shadows that bite the ground like teeth. As the sun nears the horizon, its benevolent yellow begins to deepen, to become infected, until it glares an angry inflamed orange. It throws a variegated glow over the horizon.

Just remember that Dumbo didn't need the feather; the magic was in him.

You see something, then it clicks with something else, and it will make a story. But you never know when it's going to happen.

Never give a good politician time to pray.