Every Writer I Know Has Trouble Writing.

The Night Was Full Of Horrors, And He Thought He Knew How Christ Must Have Felt As He Walked Through The World, Like A Psychiatrist Through A Ward Full Of Nuts.

It Made Him Proud That 29 Months In The Service Had Not Blunted His Genius For Ineptitude.

I Don't Think The 'what' Distinguishes A Good Novel From A Bad One But Rather The 'how.'

There Was No Telling What People Might Find Out Once They Felt Free To Ask Whatever Questions They Wanted To.

When I Look Up, I See People Cashing In. I Don't See Heaven Or Saints Or Angels. I See People Cashing In On Every Decent Impulse And Every Human Tragedy.