“I write for love, but love doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I love writing about my job because I loved it, and it was a particularly interesting one when I was a young man. It was like holidays with pay to me.”

“Whoever loves knowing why they love, doesn’t love.”

“I love you,” Bill said helplessly, as if he wished those magic words would heal me. But he knew they wouldn’t.

“That’s what you all keep saying,” I answered. “But it doesn’t seem to get me any happier.”

“I love to write. It's my first love.”

“You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that's all.”

“I can love October in September. September doesn’t care.”

“It was an act of devotion. A little like writing or loving someone — it doesn’t always feel worthwhile, but not giving up somehow creates unexpected meaning over time.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love you. That’s it. That’s all. I hope to hell it’s enough.”

“There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat.”