Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you.

You know, you pick and choose your battles.

Your memory is a monster; you forget - it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you - and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!

Now I get to pick and choose exactly what I want to do.

Life at a public company ain't for me. The board pays you what you're worth, then you get reamed for your compensation.

You don't want to dwell on your enemies, you know. I basically feel so superior to my critics for the simple reason that they haven't done what I do. Most book reviewers haven't written 11 novels. Many of them haven't written one.