“How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it to typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotions, my feeling, by turning it into print?”

“This is the first letter I have ever written. That a few marks on this piece of paper can bring you my heart in my absence is a great magic. Life is a constant source of wonder.”

“How my life has been brought to undiscovered lands, and how much richer it gets - all from words printed on a page.... How a book can have 560 pages, but in only three pages change the reader's life.”

“Any intelligent person knows that life is a beautiful thing and that the purpose of life is to be happy," said my father as he watched the three beauties. "But it seems only idiots are ever happy. How can we explain this?”

“How can I expect readers to know who I am if I do not tell them about my family, my friends, the relationships in my life? Who am I if not where I fit in the world, where I fit in the lives of the people dear to me?”

“I am a writer.I have been a writer my whole life. Words are the only things I have ever believed in. These words… They are a part of me. And they always will be. You can take away everything I own. You can take away my money, my friends and family and strangers I have met once. You can take away my love, my hate, my happiness and sorrow. You can take away my memories, my past and present and future. You can take away my life. You can take away everything.But you can never take away these words. You can never take away the fact that I am a writer.”