The Decent Thing To Do Is To

If Your Book Doesn't Keep You Up Nights When You Are Writing It, It Won't Keep Anyone Up Nights Reading It.

No Idea Is Ever Dead Until Those Who Believe In It Say It's Dead.

In Six Pages, I Can't Even Say "hello.

I Was Brought Up In The Great Tradition Of The Late Nineteenth Century: That A Writer Never Complains, Never Explains And Never Disdains.

I Wish I Could Tell You About The South Pacific. The Way It Actually Was. The Endless Ocean. The Infinite Specks Of Coral We Called Islands. Coconut Palms Nodding Gracefully Toward The Ocean. Reefs Upon Which Waves Broke Into Spray, And Inner Lagoons, Lovely Beyond Description. I Wish I Could Tell You About The Sweating Jungle, The Full Moon Rising Behind The Volcanoes, And The Waiting. The Waiting. The Timeless, Repetitive Waiting.