Taste ... Is A Matter

I Realized That I Might Not Ever Make It As A Writer, That It Might Be Because I Wasn't Good Enough, Or That It Might Be Because The Odds Were Just Too Long.

Your Presence Here Is Is Only A Matter Of Conducting An Experiment In Limits, Reminding Yourself Of What You Aren’t.

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.

There Is A Shabby Nobility In Failing All By Yourself.

Most Novelists I Know Went Through A Period Of Intense Self-examination And Self-loathing After The Terrorist Attacks On The World Trade Center. I Certainly Did.