You Never Know When Somebody

Writing Doesn't Come Real Easy To Me. I Couldn't Write A Novel In A Year. It Wouldn't Be Readable. I Don't Let An Editor Even Look At It Until The Second Year, Because It Would Just Scare Them. I Just Have To Trust That All These Scraps And Dead-ends Will Find A Way.

So Of Course Time Is Necessary. But Nevertheless Damn Painful, For It Transforms All The Pieces Of Your Life - Joy And Sorrow, Youth And Age, Love And Hate, Terror And Bliss - From Fire Into Smoke Rising Up The Air And Dissipating On A Breeze.

I Was 46 When 'cold Mountain' Came Out. I Was Settled. We Had A Nice House In Raleigh And A Horse Farm.

When All Else Is Lost And Gone Forever, There Is Yearning. Only Desire Trumps Time.

I Remember My Father Checking On A Mountain Kid Who Hadn't Been Coming To School. My Father Had This Beautiful Harris Tweed Overcoat. He Came Back With A Knife Cut All Down One Side. The Parents Had Told Him It Was None Of His Business Why Their Son Wasn't Going To School.