He who would remain honest ought to keep away want.
Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.
. . . You know the mistrust of heights is the mistrust of self, you don't know whether you're going to jump.
Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.
here, here is my dark world. you carry it for a change. im out
I usually start with something that has some energy, like a compressed character or a situation that's wound up like a spring. Then all I have to do is let it go, let its energy carry the story. And that may not turn out to be the beginning of the book.
What is real is always worth it.
I think being an athlete prepares you for more things than people give us credit for.
I never wanted my books to be mistaken for poetry or fiction books; I wanted to write reference books. But instead of referring to something, they refer to nothing.
The coaches hate each other, the players hate each other. . . There's no calling each other after the game and inviting each other out to dinner. But the feeling's mutual: They don't like us, and we don't like them. There's no need to hide it, they know it, and we know it. It's going to be one of those black and blue games.
Had a love affair with Nina in the back of my Cortina. A seasoned up hyena, could not have been more obscener.