The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.

Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.

I bleed words.
I dream in narrative.
I live in infinite worlds.
I befriend figmental characters.
I wish on stars in other galaxies.
I harvest stories from a brooding muse.
I bloom under moonlight in hushed seclusion.
I am a writer.

You are an author, a public figure. You are going to be judged no matter what you write, so live your life in a way that’s pleasing and congruent to your soul

It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if I stopped my most unwilling hand. Nothing can undo it; nothing can make it otherwise than as it was.

My mind is a potpourri of riveting thoughts.