Author Quotes

A child is a beam of sunlight from the Infinite and Eternal, with possibilities of virtue and vice- but as yet unstained.

Every life is a march from innocence, through temptation, to virtue or vice.

When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.

When I'm forced by circumstances to be in a crowd of prisoners, it's all I can do to refrain from attack.

To be in prison so long, it's difficult to remember exactly what you did to get there.

There was never sufficient evidence presented at my trial to support a finding of intent to kill.

The other inmates stand in a long straight line, flanked by guards, and I am dragged past them. I do not respect them, because they will not run - will not try to escape.

One morning I woke up and was plunged into psychological shock. I had forgotten I was free.

My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.

I've wanted somehow to convey to you the sensations - the atmospheric pressure, you might say - of what it is to be seriously a long-term prisoner in an American prison.

I find it painful and angering to look in a mirror.

I escaped one time. In 1971 I was in the free world for six weeks.

The part of me which wanders through my mind and never sees or feels actual objects, but which lives in and moves through my passions and my emotions, experiences this world as a horrible nightmare.

That is how prison is tearing me up inside. It hurts every day. Every day takes me further from my life.

Paranoia is an illness I contracted in institutions. It is not the reason for my sentences to reform school and prison. It is the effect, not the cause.

Nothing is over and done with. Nothing. Not even your malice.

Imagine a thousand more such daily intrusions in your life, every hour and minute of every day, and you can grasp the source of this paranoia, this anger that could consume me at any moment if I lost control.

I have been desperate to escape for so many years now, it is routine for me to try to escape.

As long as I am nothing but a ghost of the civil dead, I can do nothing.

Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent - something like an infant - deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer.

Short-story writing requires an exquisite sense of balance. Novelists, frankly, can get away with more. A novel can have a dull spot or two, because the reader has made a different commitment.

One of my great passions is the collection of historical trivia.

Once you've invested hundreds of hours in creating a coherent universe, your story's grown to around a half-million words and can't be written as anything less than a trilogy.

No one uses a ribbon typewriter any more, but your final draft is not the time to try to wring a few more sheets out of your inkjet cartridge.

Neophyte writers tend to believe that there is something magical about ideas and that if they can just get a hold of a good one, then their futures are ensured.

My writing has to support more than my research habit, but I love to curl up with a book about some dusty corner of history.

It's possible to become so comfortable with one's style and structure that one ceases to grow.

It's been a long time since I've written old-fashioned sword and sorcery; I'm hoping it's like riding a bicycle.

It took me about 12 years to reach my million-word mark. The challenge now is to continue to challenge myself.

I've read short stories that are as dense as a 19th century novel and novels that really are short stories filled with a lot of helium.