“Never give up. The same manuscript may appeal to one agent and not to another. It's a matter of taste, and it's all about the writing.What if I had give up at 15? Or 40? Or even 60?The point is, I can't tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won't take you anywhere.”

“The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.”

“I still love books. Nothing a computer can do can compare to a book. You can't really put a book on the Internet. Three companies have offered to put books by me on the Net, and I said, 'If you can make something that has a nice jacket, nice paper with that nice smell, then we'll talk.' All the computer can give you is a manuscript. People don't want to read manuscripts. They want to read books. Books smell good. They look good. You can press it to your bosom. You can carry it in your pocket.”

“All of this time – I need you to answer one thing,” I paused, preparing for the incoming heartbreak that would surely follow. “Did you ever give up on me?” “Never.” Her voice was stern. “No matter how much trouble you may have caused, Taylen. No matter how much you may have hurt me. I’ve never given up on you, love, and I never will.”

“Each song is a child I nourish and give my love to. But even if you have never written a song, your life is a song. How can it not be?”

“In front of me 327 pages of the manuscript [Master and Margarita] (about 22 chapters). The most important remains - editing, and it's going to be hard. I will have to pay close attention to details. Maybe even re-write some things... 'What's its future?' you ask? I don't know. Possibly, you will store the manuscript in one of the drawers, next to my 'killed' plays, and occasionally it will be in your thoughts. Then again, you don't know the future. My own judgement of the book is already made and I think it truly deserves being hidden away in the darkness of some chest.[Bulgakov from Moscow to his wife on June 15 1938]”