Late bloomer' is another way of saying 'slow learner.

Somewhere along the way America became a giant mall with a country attached.

It took me 10 years to write a story that pleased me - that I could look at after it was published and not cringe.

It is sort of weird being honored for the worst day of your life.

By the end of the first decade of writing, I considered myself a confirmed failure in the eyes of the world.

I never listen to music when I'm writing.

Americans are incredibly polite as long as they get what they want.

There was no such thing as perfection in this world, only moments of such extreme transparency that you forgot yourself, a holy mercy if there ever was one.

If you could figure out how to live with family then you'd gone a long way toward finding your peace.

The funny thing is, about the time I let go of any aspiration toward worldly success, that's about the time I started writing decent work.

I kept going back while I was writing the novel - which never sold, may it rest in peace - and by the time it was finished I had too many connections to Haiti to walk away.

All progress is based upon a universal innate desire on the part of every organism to live beyond its income.

Perfection is out of the question.

I'm attracted to how fraught the parent-child relationship is, swerving so easily between love and hostility, with almost no plausible way to end, unless someone dies.

When five up express, as is polite, regret at laying a stymie, but rejoice in your heart.

Actually, I failed drama in high school because of nerves. I wasnt able to memorize the words. I had complete stage fright.

The teacher can always tell when you did your homework on the bus.

We should endeavor practically in our lives to correct all the defects which our imagination detects.

Direction determines destination. So the question you must ask yourself; 'Are all the disciplines that I'm currently engaged in taking me where I want to go?'

Hold on to the center and make up your mind to rejoice in this paradise called life.

The lovers of God never run out of patience, for they know that time is needed for the crescent moon to become full.