Writing has made me rich-not in money but in a couple hundred characters out there, whose pursuits and anguish and triumphs I've shared. I am unspeakably grateful at the life I have come to lead.

The man who walks alone is soon trailed by the F.B.I.

We make to ourselves pictures of facts. The picture is a model of reality

The past is useless. That explains why it is past.

When writing is good, everything is symbolic, but symbolic writing is seldom good.

As the style of Faulkner grew out of his rage--out of the impotence of his rage--the style of Hemingway grew out of the depth andnuance of his disenchantment.

In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track.