Art Doesn't Exist If You Just Do

A Novelist Has Two Lives-- A Reading And Writing Life, And A Lived Life. He Or She Cannot Be Understood At All Apart From This.

The Brave View Is That Talking It Out Helps Work It Out. Maybe The Realistic View Is That Talking It Out Inflames The Issues Further. But That Is America, Especially These Days.

A Reader's Tastes Are Peculiar. Choosing Books To Read Is Like Making Your Way Down A Remote And Winding Path. Your Stops On That Path Are Always Idiosyncratic. One Book Leads To Another And Another The Way One Thought Leads To Another And Another. My Type Of Reader Is The Sort Who Burrows Through The Stacks In The Bookstore Or The Library (or The Web Site — Stacks Are Stacks), Yielding To Impulse And Instinct.

In My Experience, There Is Only One Motivation, And That Is Desire. No Reasons Or Principle Contain It Or Stand Against It.

After A Long Day, Folk Rest At Night. After A Long Summer, Folk Play Games And Sit About In The Winter. After A Long Life Folk Sit About The Fire And Stay Warm, For The Chill Of Death Is Upon Them, And Even The Thickest Bearskin Can't Keep Off The Shivering.