It Just Happened. As Though A Moment

It Was Night And I Could See A Large And Calm Lake, Reflecting The Moon. Black Mountains Rose Around It. I Arrived From Between Two Of These Mountains, I Looked At The Lake And The Moon, And That Was It, Nothing Else Happened.

We Live In A Time When Writers Do Not Always Have Barriers Around Them

For 30 Years I Have Tried To Make It Understood That There Are No Criminals.

I'm A Bit Like A Sponge. When I'm Not Writing I Absorb Life Like Water. When I Write I Squeeze The Sponge A Little - And Out Comes, Not Water But Ink.

The Place Smelled Of Fairgrounds, Of Lazy Crowds, Of Nights When You Stayed Out Because You Couldn't Go To Bed, And It Smelled Like New York, Of Its Calm And Brutal Indifference.