From the time I could read, I found solace in my father's library...At the ages of ten and eleven and twelve I would have preferred to remain in the library...

...who I am to talk? I dream of rain.

Perhaps I was drawn to stories in which people found their true desires because I was a stranger to myself.

...never to rush something I was creating, but instead let it come into being as if it had a soul of it's own.

There is the outside of a story, and the inside of a story... One is the fruit and may be delicious, but the other is the seed.

But I was not a mouse. In the fields where I walked, I was much more interested in the actions of the hawks.

I knew what happened in fairy tales. The strong survived while the weak were eaten alive.

She understood love. What destroys you saves you, she had told me.

I only had access to him when we were together in the library, and I loved them both -the library and my father- equally and without question.

Although my father had never been there, I came to believe I would someday see that city for him.

Don’t just wish you were rich, use Cosmic Ordering.

Compromise is the assassin of fellowship with God.

People told her she hadn't changed much, in a tone which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn't.

The darkest clouds precipitate the most rain.

If only I could throw away the urge to trace my patterns in your heart, I could really see you.

The goal is partly the enjoyment; it doesn't come later, but within the very process of the struggle.

Some people feel with their heads and think with their hearts.

The press in America has never been stronger and never been freer and never been more vibrant, sometimes to my chagrin, and a lot of times to my delight.

I think if you feel like you were born to write, then you probably were.

Socrates ... did not write. It seems academically obvious that he perished because he did not publish!