What A Bog And Labyrinth The Human

A Writers Job Is To Destroy And Then To Build The Thing Back Up Again By A Chosen Means.

My Stories Do Have Plot. They're Not Just Scattered Language; They're Controlled, Toward An End.

I Lost My Second Marriage Because Of Drinking, And I Loved The Woman Very Much. But I Thought I Needed Booze To Write. I'm Glad I Was Disabused.

The Point Is To Strip Down, Get Protestant, Then Even More Naked. Walk Over Scorched Bricks To Find Your Own Soul. Your Heart A Searching Dog In The Rubble.

If You Are Able To Explain Suffering, A Man Once Told Him, You Weren't Really There.