I turn sentences around. That’s my life. I write a sentence and then I turn it around. Then I look at it and I turn it around again. Then I have lunch. Then I come back in and write another sentence. Then I have tea and turn the new sentence around. Then I read the two sentences over and turn them both around. Then I lie down on my sofa and think. Then I get up and throw them out and start from the beginning. And if I knock off from this routine for as long as a day, I’m frantic with boredom . . .
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Live first, write second.
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I read your diary. I KNOW.
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Writing starts with living.
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Beware of being only a writer.
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Writers are born, not created.
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Nothing is louder than silence.
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Writing is the act of discovery.
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Too many irons, not enough fire.
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Writing only leads to more writing.
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I feel the most alive when I write.
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