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

I was eleven, then I was sixteen. Though no honors came my way, those were the lovely years.

The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.

A boy has to peddle his book.

Leave it to me: I'm always top banana in the shock department.

June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

Talent is a valued tormentor.