I like to end stories where the readers have a little room to run. They can resolve things as they like in their own mind.

No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves.

She is a cat with a burning tail, an ant under a microscope, a fly about to lose its wings to the curious plucking fingers of a third-grader on a rainy day, a game for bored children with no bodies and the whole universe at their feet.

Bloom never pissed me off because there are critics out there, and he's one of them, who take their ignorance about popular culture as a badge of intellectual prowess.

The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge.

Most books about writing are filled with bullshit. Fiction writers, present company included, don’t understand very much about what they do—not why it works when it’s good, not why it doesn’t when it’s bad.

and then woe is you, Pauly. Woe to the max.