Nobody with any real sense of humor *can* write a love story. . . . Shakespeare is the exception that proves the rule. (90-91)
Sometimes my hand starts to burn and I am convinced we are writing the same word at the same moment.
...writing surrounds us: it's not something we do just in school or on the job but something that is as familiar and everyday as a pair of worn sneakers or the air we breathe.
Don't let yourself slip and get any perfect characters... keep them people, people, people, and don't let them get to be symbols.
Her descriptions will be incandescent, perfect little nuggets of phraseology, and there will probably be lots of sex in her writing - the clinical type of sex with labias and clitorises and tongues going everywhere.
When there's a moon the shadows in the house grow larger; invisible hands draw back the curtains, a pallid finger writes forgotten words on dust of the piano...
When I’m writing my own stuff, it’s like swimming upstream. Or … falling down a cliff and grabbing at branches, trying to invent the branches as I fall.
T[he rules of writing] require that the personages in a tale shall be alive, except in the case of corpses, and that always the reader shall be able to tell the corpses from the others.
Most times, my mind is just an ongoing, present-tense, first-person monologue. It's like I'm writing a novel.
...you fantasize about me reading my poems to you - it doesn't work that way - I write down everything later - living is not an after-thought...
...my writing is a wild mustang - more thunderous than a lightning storm -and all my skill which I call art, is devoted to simply staying on...
...at seventeen I tried to write poetry confining myself solely to Anglo-Saxon words - don't know if it helped, but it made me more concrete ...
... my early writing was a silent fury - at what or whom, I had no idea - but I shut it in until it burned my bones and now, I've let it out...
Sometimes I dream that I'm writing a memoir. A memoir would just be the thing to keep me in the hearts and memories of my adoring public.
The world doesn't fully make sense until the writer has secured his version of it on the page. And the act of writing is strangely more lifelike than life.
Travel is a state of mind. It has nothing to do with existence or the exotic. It is almost always an inner experience.
Our spiritual character is formed as much by what we endure and what is taken from us as it is by our achievements and our conscious choices.
To everyone who thinks writing a sequel should be easy because you've already clreated the universe: Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha! Heh. No.
a few words spoken beneath the moon, love may be, but I write your name in the celestial dust that lingers in the air, above the veilchenblau roses, callow and pale
You see Miss Gertrude is a genius. And a genius is a genius. So what if no one understands a word she writes. Some day they might.
Pages and pages and pages with words all over the pages. My goodness, what fun. What fun to write whatever words occur.
