Delia's Arms Were Inscribed With

If It's Red, French, Costs Too Much, And Tastes Like The Water That's Left In The Vase After The Flowers Have Died And Rotted, It's Probably Burgundy.

I Think It's Dangerous To Think You Know What You're Writing. I Usually Don't Know, And Usually I Just Discover It In The Course Of Writing. I Envy Those Writers Who Can Outline A Beginning, A Middle, And End. Fitzgerald Supposedly Did It. John Irving Does. Bret Easton Ellis Does. But For Me, The Writing Itself Is The Process Of Discovery. I Can't See All That Far Ahead.

Great Minds Sink Alike, Right?

Most All Of The Writers I Admired When I Was In My Teens And Twenties Died Young. Fitzgerald Lived The Longest. He Was 44. Dylan Thomas Was 39. And Then Once You're Approaching 40, You Suddenly Think, "well, Maybe I Would Like To Live Longer Than Fitzgerald Or Thomas."

Taste ... Is A Matter Of Taste (tad Allagash)