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The women in my life have all been librarians, English teachers, or booksellers. If they couldn't speak pidgin Tolstoy, articulate Henry James, or give me directions to Usher and Ox, it was no go. I have always longed for education, and pillow talk's the best.
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We're a free society; we've got television. We have radio. We have newspapers. We have the videocassette, which is coming into play. These are new freedoms.
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You'd type like hell. I spent $9.80 and in nine days I had Fahrenheit 451.
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We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal. Each man the image of every other; then all are happy, for there are no mountains to make them cower, to judge themselves against.
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Don’t try to write a novel. Write short stories and then figure out how to connect them.
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Who has more pockets than a magician? A boy. Whose pockets contain *more* than a magicians? A boy's.
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Ideas excite me, and as soon as I get excited, the adrenaline gets going and the next thing I know I'm borrowing energy from the ideas themselves.
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I have something to fight for and live for; that makes me a better killer. I've got what amounts to a religion , now .
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You don't organize metaphors . . . you explode them.
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Love is the answer to everything. It's the only reason to do anything.
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Friendship is an island that you retreat to and you all fall on the floor and laugh at all the other ninnies that don't have enough brains to have your good taste.
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Notoriety and a fat bank balance must come after everything else is finished and done.
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When the wind is right, a faint odor of kerosene is exhaled from Senator McCarthy.
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You feed yourself. Make sure you have all the information, whether it's aesthetic, scientific, mathematical, I don't care what it is. Then you walk away from it and let it ferment. You ignore it and pretend you don't care. Next thing you know, the answer comes.
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Edgar Allen Poe really started me when I was 8. I fell in love with everything of his.
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I don't know anything anymore
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...We're allotted a little space on earth and that we survive in that wilderness that can take back what it has given, as easily as blowing its breath on us or sending the sea to tell us we are not so big. When we forget how close the wilderness is in the night, my grandpa said, someday it will come in and get us, for we will have forgotten how terrible and real it can be.
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If you're living in your time, you cannot help but to write about the things that are important.
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Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down.
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You have to know how to accept rejection and reject acceptance.
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They stood there, King of the Hill, Top of the Heap, Ruler of All They Surveyed, Unimpeachable Monarchs and Presidents, trying to understand what it meant to own a world and how big a world really was.
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How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or your real hatred somehow got onto the paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like a lightning bolt?
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I was one of Them: the Strange Ones. The Funny People. The Odd Tribes of autograph collectors and photographers. The Ones who waited through long days and nights, who used other people's dreams for their lives.
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The real fear isn't rejection, but that there won't be enough time in your life to write all the stories that you have in you.