There is something immensely scary about putting yourself out there for people to love or hate you, fan or pan you, review or screw you.

Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.

It was a star, " Mrs. Whatsit said sadly. "A star giving up its life in battle with the Thing. It won, oh, yes, my children, it won. But it lost its life in the winning.

I get my exercise being a pallbearer for those of my friends who believed in regular running and calisthenics.

It seems the only way to write a half decent book is to worry oneself sick on an hourly basis that one is producing a complete disaster.

People think, 'Oh, I'm loving myself by sitting on this sofa for four hours.' Love yourself enough to get up!

You can give of your talent, you can give of your possessions, or you can give of yourself. For God's sake, give something.

No, absolutely not, writing doesn't have to be like a jigsaw puzzle, it can be a very linear undertaking.

I'm tipsy." I corrected, "and it's my birthday and I want to dance. Come one, Linc, it won't kill you.

My mom is one of 14 children. She's a great lady. She's a Taurus. Has been a profound influence in my life, still is to this day. Born in meager surroundings in rural South Carolina.

...sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing atthe right time to the right person, that too-raresensation of having the right thing to say and believing it.