I broke with my religion in college.
I can’t get very far away from Christianity, I can’t get very far away from the angels and the saints. I work them in always, in some way.
I can’t keep up with Stephen King’s output.
A perfectly evil Devil makes even less sense than a perfect God.
Roman influence seeds itself, sprouting mighty oaks right through the modern forest of computers, digital disks, microviruses and space satellites.
That process by which you become a writer is a pretty lonely one. We don’t have a group apprenticeship like a violinist might training for an orchestra.
Very few beings really seek knowledge in this world. Mortal or immortal, few really ASK. On the contrary, they try to wring from the unknown the answers they have already shaped in their own minds.
We’re frightened of what makes us different.
There may be writing groups where people meet but it’s occasional. You really do it all at your own computer or your own typewriter by yourself.
I was obsessed with religious questions, the basics: Why are we here? Why is the world so beautiful?
I love New Orleans physically. I love the trees and the balmy air and the beautiful days. I have a beautiful house here.
I enjoy the Web site a lot and I like being able to talk to my readers. I’ve always had a very close relationship with them.
I do want to go another way – to write something completely different.
I do not read the ancient languages, but I am beginning to study Greek.
I want to love all the children of God – Christian, Jew, Moslem, Hindu, Buddhist – everyone. I want to love gay Christians and straight Christians.
Dear God, help me. Do not forget me on this tiny cinder lost in a galaxy that is lost–a heart no bigger than a speck of dust beating, beating against death, against meaninglessness, against guilt, against sorrow.
I lived like a man who wanted to die but who had no courage to do it himself.
Time can tick when there is no clock.
He had grieved for me, I’ll give him that much. But then he is so good at grieving! He wears woe as others wear velvet; sorrow flatters him like the light of candles; tears become him like jewels.
My last sunrise. That morning, I was not yet a vampire. And I saw my last sunrise. I remember it completely; yet I do not think I remember any other sunrise before it.