Quotes About Author

I hear his call still, echoing down the centuries. It sounded like a warning. It sounded like a death knell. It sounded, most of all, like laughter.

You're an escapee from the loony bin," I said. "You're the butt of every joke ever told. You might as well be the chicken that crossed the road.

Why are you pretending to write, when I already know you're just doing that to intimidate me?

Most people did not think dirty thoughts at a time like this. Only me.

You're toast." I felt like toast, burning with anger inside my waterproof layers. "I am not, " I insisted. "I might be lightly browned on one side.

Uhhhhh." Without answering,I turned and hurried toward the back of the room, eaving around bodies on yoga mats in the center of the polished wood floor, thinking unkind thoughts about well-meaning old people who wanted to push me into being successful.

Suggesting that you do yoga was my subtle way of telling you to go to hell.

I had shaved my beard for her-a huge disappointment, because I'd enjoyed my three weeks looking like a bank robber.

He was a dork, but at least he was totally comfortable in social situations, like Dad. Comfortable, or oblivious, which amounted to the same thing.

Tell me about your project." "It's a surprise," I said loudly over the siren. "I don't like surprises." No surprise there.

If you drive down there," I said, "he'll just escape the other way. That's what he's counting on. You have to walk down there, point your gun at him, and yell at him in that charming way you have.

Would you like some tea?" She wrinkled her nose. "Is there booze in it?" He looked into the pitcher. "Just tea. No imbibing for me tonight. I have two papers due Monday. Homework over spring break. Can you believe that?" "No!" she exclaimed, stepping closer to him. I do my homework clearly was the mating call for their species.

Because at some time in the last five days, I jad freaking fallen in love with John After

a swell of gratitude and appreciation for his assistant, as opposed to the murderous rage he felt toward the rest of his staff

The need for personal glory is like cigarette addiction: a habit that feels life-sustaining even as it kills you.

Time's a goon right?You gonna let that goon push you around?

But I don't want to fade away, I want to flame away—I want my death to be an attraction, a spectacle, a mystery. A work of art.

if we can work the story around the idea of punishment and redemption, that could be *very* appealing.

we don't have a god of bloody stupid ideas

Thought lengths it, pulls an invisible world through a needle's eye one detail at a time, ...

You knew about that?" Nearly thirty years later, the memory was still embarrassing. I worried what it said about me. At best it seemed to point to some intrinsic foolishness, a deep-seated eccentricity that lurked within me still.

I am not being overly harsh. Overtly hostile, yes, but exactly the right amount of harsh.

The opportunity to gain Willpower makes a great motivation for a story, especially your more bizarre ones.

church-planting team is representative of the culture, not a group of paid professionals or full-time ministers.