I Hate To Be Fatalistic About It,

When You're Not Involved, Other People's Unhappiness Seems To Be About The Funniest Damn Thing On Earth Because You Think You Can Solve It, That You Are God, That You Are Above This, And That Their Unhappiness Is Just Such Useless Toil And Agony. If It's You, It Ceases To Be A Comedy.

I Thought I Was Writing For A Fairly Hip, Intelligent Crowd; I Just Thought There Were More Of Them Out There. But They're Not. They're Not Out There Waiting. They're Not Gonna Use Their Intelligence On Your Book.

I Found Out About Reviews Early On. They're Mostly Written By Sad Men On Bad Afternoons. That's Probably Why I'm Less Angry Than Some Writers, Who Are So Narcissistic They Consider Every Line Of Every Review, Even A Thoughtful One, As Major Treason.

Whoever You Are, Be That Person With All Your Might. Time Goes By Faster Than We Thought. It Is A Thief So Quiet. You Must Let Yourself Be Loved And You Must Love, Parts Of You That Never Loved Must Open And Love. You Must Announce Yourself In All Particulars So You Can Have Yourself.

The Alcohol Had The Code And Mystery About It As A Writer's Drug, But I'm Glad That's Been Debunked. But The Trouble With The Drinking, Much As I Hate To Admit It, Is It Helped The Work.