“I’ll never forget reading Chekhov’s “A Doctor’s Visit” on a train to Hawthorne, New York, and I got to the end”

You know, as I’ve grown older, my ideas about sin have changed. I used to believe that sins were things you did, but I don’t think that now. I think sins are what you ignore.

I’m interested in the limits of personality, in the possibility of change, and the saving power of art. Do powerful works of art raise our consciousness to such a degree that we refrain from sliding into moral hazard? Do we take note? Or are we doomed to repetition?

Once when I went over my work with my Washington University professor, the late great Stanley Elkin, he pointed to a passage of mine and said: Stop vamping. It has remained a caution.

Perhaps it’s simply the dual nature of marriage, the proximity of violence and love.

People think of travel, of movement, as a kind of reprieve from life. But they’re wrong. Movement isn’t a reprieve. There is no reprieve. Movement is our permanent state.

Hardcover and paperback forever. Someone carve that into a tree.

the scene where the patient says goodbye to the doctor and she puts a flower in her hair as a kind of thank you to him – and I felt like a cowboy shot from a canyon’s top.

Simply put, you can read a story in a single sitting and hold it all in your mind. You can experience all of its rhythms, beginning to end, during that span. Consequently it has, I think, greater emotional power than a novel because of this real-time effect. Stories can stun you.

This is a different experience from reading a novel, I think. The emotional effect is cumulative.

By examining characters lighting the way to hell, as it were, are readers spared iniquity?

Are stories a heeded warning, or merely an entertainment? Each story in the collection tries to wrestle with these questions.

There was a long stint during my childhood after I gave up on being a pro football player – were talking sixth grade here – that I strongly considered a future writing and drawing comic books. I have been making stuff up ever since.

Let’s just hope market forces don’t send short fiction the way of the dinosaur, because their sales are paltry compared to the novel and this is truly unfortunate.

I can’t imagine turning into one of those codgers who no longer reads fiction. I’m regularly stirred by it and suffer no anxiety of influence. Influence me! That was my credo then, as I was developing and learning, and remains so now, as I’m developing and learning.

All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.

Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all.

I pop men like pills to make me happy, but they all wear off in the end.

In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.

Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.

Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.

They spoke less and less between them until at last they were silent altogether as is often the way with travelers approaching the end of a journey.

I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.