Love is easy, and I love writing. You can’t resist love. You get an idea, someone says something, and you’re in love.
Love is the answer to everything. It’s the only reason to do anything. If you don’t write stories you love, you’ll never make it. If you don’t write stories that other people love, you’ll never make it.
The first thing you learn in life is you’re a fool. The last thing you learn in life is you’re the same fool.
Time is so strange and life is twice as strange. You must promise me not to live to be too old, William. It if is at all convenient, die before you’re fifty. It my take a bit of doing. But I advise this is simply because there is no telling when another Helen Loomis might be born. It would be dreadful, wouldn’t it, if you lived on to be very very old and some afternoon in 1999 walked down Main street and saw me standing there, aged twenty-one, and the whole thing out of balance again?
Death doesn’t exist. It never did, it never will. But we’ve drawn so many pictures of it, so many years, trying to pin it down, comprehend it, we’ve got to thinking of it as an entity, strangely alive and greedy. All it is, however, is a stopped watch, a loss, an end, a darkness. Nothing.
Everything that happens before Death is what counts.
The father hesitated only a moment. He felt the vague pain in his chest. If I run, he thought, what will happen? Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before Death is what counts. And we’ve done fine tonight. Even Death can’t spoil it.
For if we’re destroyed, the knowledge is dead…We’re nothing more than dust jackets for books…so many pages to a person…