I've always looked upon the Ducks as caricature human beings. Perhaps I've been years writing in that middle world that J.R.R. Tolkien describes, and never knew it.

I read some of my stories recently and thought, 'How in the hell did I get away with that?' I had some really raw cynicism in some of them.

I was never a Boy Scout, but oh, I wanted to be one when I was a kid about ten or eleven years old. But there wasn't anyplace where I could ever join the Boy Scouts.

There was no difference between my characters and the life my readers were going to have to face.

Aren’t autobiographies born in a question we ask ourselves: how did I get to this point? Don’t we look back over the path and tell ourselves a story? This is how it happened. This is who I am.

He knew how to say many false things that were like true sayings.

If we try to secure the well-being of others, we will, at the same time, create the conditions for our own.

You do brutal workouts to get used to suffering so suffering doesn't become a defining deal.

Hunger makes a fool of a man.

"Say the word, Qhuinn. Do it and I'll spend the night with you.""Better yet, why don't you just kiss me..."

Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart, and then he will be sorry for what he has done.

Fame is fleeting, and you can't get caught up in it. Signing autographs, taking pictures, and being nice to people is a small price to pay for the upside that comes with this.

Don't be an art critic. Paint. There lies salvation.

Let valour end my life!