The bitterness of joy lies in the knowledge that is cannot last. Nor should joy last beyond a certain season, for, after that season, even joy would become merely habit.

It was not apathy. It was an intelligent disinterest in those things that could have no bearing on one's existence.

We all have our dreams. May we find them, and God have mercy on us when we do.

I began to feel lighthearted. Don't ever do that; it tempts some dark and evil force abroad in the universe.

I like writing about women, weak and strong, pathetic and heroic. I like writing about men, ditto. And all the variants of men and women, beasts and demons.

I think of myself as a storyteller, and that is it.

I submitted manuscripts to publishers. This was not so much a feeling that I should be published as a wish to escape the feared and hated drudgery of normal work.