Truth is sacred; and if you tell the truth too often nobody will believe it.
My backyard was replete with madness, it just grew indigenously in South Florida.
Tin House magazine is a port in the storm for people who love language. It is unfailingly excellent, and committed to publishing new voices in addition to delivering freaky-fresh work from established writers.
I would love to travel around the world working for a travel company taking students abroad on cultural immersion trips.
America's great talent, I think, is to generate desires that would never have occurred, natively,. . . and to make those desires so painfully real that money becomes a fiction, an imaginary means to some concrete end.
I'm probably a lot closer than perhaps the contents of my early fiction suggest to a jaded Denny's waitress with smoker's-lung-black humor than a ghost hunter.
At the end of the block where I used to live in Coconut Grove in Miami, there's a swampy area, a no-name alcove with a little mangrove estuary. It's beautiful.
I got the letter about becoming a Sir in 2000, the same year that Pauline asked me if we could finally get married. My assistant, Colette, called up and it turned out both the wedding and the Buck House ceremony were happening on the same day. I was knighted at 11 and married at four. She became an instant Lady.
I was lucky to go to work every day for 50 years, to a job that I loved.
Every day we have the opportunity to make our relationships be on the outside what they really are on a spiritual level.
They are committing the greatest indignity human beings can inflict on one another: telling people who have suffered excruciating pain and loss that their pain and loss were illusions. (v)