I can read in red. I can read in blue. I can read in pickle color too.
The only people we can think of as normal are those we don't yet know very well.
A notorious inability to express emotions makes human beings the only animals capable of suicide.
Dreams reveal we never quite get 'over' anything: it's all still in there somewhere.
The fear of saying something stupid (which stupid people never have) has censored far more good ideas than bad ones.
Only by declaring a book completely finished can one start to see how much remains to be done on it.
What am I supposed to do here? What am I supposed to think?
That is supposed to be the rallying cry of women in the age of AIDS: no condom, no sex. But the dirty little secret is that the rallying cry is a whisper. . . . The great unspoken on the heterosexual AIDS front has been how behavior is still determined by the old psychosexual minuet of the sexes, the lack of responsibility in young men and of assertiveness in young women.
A closed mind stumbles over the blessings of life without recognizing them.
You're here to sweat. This program is live. There's about one thousand million people watching you. So, you remember - one wrong word, one foolish gesture and your whole career could go down in flames. Hold that thought and have a nice night.
My constant fear as a writer as that I will fail to convey the gravity of living. I know that to some degree that sets me up as boorish, but I'll have to live with that, and, honestly, I'd rather err on the side of being "unredeemingly dark," as one reviewer said about blood kin, than on keeping to the sunny side.