June is the gateway to summer.

Lilacs are May in essence.

November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls.

In March winter is holding back and spring is pulling forward. Something holds and something pulls inside of us too.

January is the month for dreaming.

Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don't know where - want to be someone else and don't know who.

In July everybody you telephone is somewhere else - either on the beach or on vacation, and half the time you're somewhere else too.

I love planting bulbs. It is making promises with tomorrow, believing in next year and the future.

When you plant early, you bring spring early.

Love is life. And if you miss love, you miss life.

Art is the objectification of feeling.

FROG, n. A reptile with edible legs

I can promote until I am blue in the face, but ultimately nobody knows what makes a hit.

My priority is my books, at least at this point. What I have to do is write the narrative of this time.

I still haven't quite caught on to the idea of writing without dialogue. I like writing dialogue, and there's nothing wrong with dialogue in movies.

My motivation is to be creative and have fun. You want to do something that keeps you on your toes the rest of your life and keeps you busy.

I may not unnerve myself while I can struggle against evil.

The nature of athletic celebrity is increasingly moving away from the actual field of play.

My favourite way of watching the cinema is the biggest possible cinema you can find, with the biggest possible screen, and the loudest possible Dolby - but just me. Nobody else.