If you sweep a house, and tend its fires and fill its stove, and there is love in you all the years you are doing this, then you and that house are married, that house is yours.

Here is a hall without exit, a tunnel without end.

When I'm writing, I never write more than four hours a day.

Imagination, of course, can open any door - turn the key and let terror walk right in.

I prefer to underwrite. Simple, clear as a country creek.

Good writing is rewriting.

I'll wager at the end a body realizes the Lord has already shown Himself. That things as they are -- her hand circles in a gesture that gathers clouds and kites and grass and Queenie pawing earth over her bone - just what they've always seen, was seeing Him. As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes.