Worse, I Have To Admit To Feeling

I Was The One Who Did Come Through That Door. You Were The One She Was Waiting For.

My Dad Had This Rock Hard Body And Would Work 12- To 13-hour Days. The Guys He Worked With Were Scrap-iron Guys. Nobody On That Road Crew Had Read A Book In 10 Years, But There Was Something About The Way They Lived I Really Admired.

When I Start Getting Close To The End Of A Novel, Something Registers In The Back Of My Mind For The Next Novel, So That I Usually Don't Write, Or Take Notes. And I Certainly Don't Begin. I Just Allow Things To Percolate For A While.

I've Never Written Nearly As Much About Place As People Seem To Think I Do. I Just Write About Class.

There Are A Great Many Sins In This World, None Of Them Original.