I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in teh hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.

Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.

I was always searching, always seeking the next big thing, because that was the thing that was going to make everything all right again. And while I was working toward it, it gave me something to think about other than that thing I couldn't put my finger on. But it always came back.

I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.

I think there is just a vein of humanity that really loves animals and really loves to read about them.

I just think I'm better equipped to make a study of human personality than trying to get into the mind of animals.