“You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park south?That little lake?By any chance you happen to know where they go?The ducks,When it gets all frozen over?”

“I live in New York, and I was thinking about the lagoon in Central Park, down near Central Park South. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I got home, and if it was, where did the ducks go? I was wondering where the ducks went when the lagoon got all icy and frozen over. I wondered if some guy came in a truck and took them away to a zoo or something. Or if they just flew away.”

“Are the choices you are making going to really make you happy NOW or happy eventually?”

“Success for you is a RECIPE that ONLY YOU KNOW the ingredients for.So to you I say ,COOK UP the success that ONLY YOU know how to make and allow the world to see YOUR CREATION!”

“...fiction writing is like duck hunting. You go to the right place at the right time with the right dog. You get into the water before dawn, wearing a little protective gear, then you stand behind some reeds and wait for the story to present itself...You choose the place and the day. You pick the gun and the dog. You have the desire to blow the duck apart for reasons that are entirely your own. But you have to be willing to accept not what you wanted to have happen, but what happens... By the time you get out of the marsh, you will have written a novel so devoid of ducks it will shock you.”

“Know this about yourself: there is only one reason professional salespeople lose orders-- they are outsold.”

“I like ducks." Jem observed diplomatically. "Esspecially the ones in Hyde Park." He glanced side ways at Will; both boys were sitting at the edge of a high table, thier legs dangling over the side. "Remember when you tried to convince me to feed pultry pie the the mallards in the park to see if you couls breed a race of cannibal ducks?""They ate it too," Will reminisced. "Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck.”