My Work In Books, Films And Talks Lies Almost Wholly With Children, And I Have Very Little Time To Give To Grown-ups.
Every Modern Male Has, Lying At The Bottom Of His Psyche, A Large, Primitive Being Covered With Hair Down To His Feet. Making Contact With This Wild Man Is The Step The Eighties Male Or The Nineties Male Has Yet To Take. That Bucketing-out Process Has Yet To Begin In Our Contemporary Culture.
To Me, The Hope Lies In Adults Forgetting About Their Retirement And Turning Toward The Adolescents And Helping Pull The Adolescents Over That Mysterious Line Drawn On The Ground Into Adulthood. If We Don't Do That, The Adolescents Are Going To Stay Exactly Where They Are For The Next 30 Or 40 Years.
I Write Songs About My Own Experiences. You Can't Lie To Yourself. You Can't Pose To Yourself.
I Try To Tell One Lie In Every Interview. It Keeps People I Know Amused When They Read The Article.
I Know Where "blubber" Came From. It Came From Stories That My Daughter Told Me When She Came Home From Fifth Grade. There Was A Kid In The Class Who Was Being Bullied. We Didn't Even Call It Bullying Then, That's What's So Weird. Victimization In The Classroom. The Word Bully Was So Out, Was So Not In Use For All Those Years And Now It's Back Big Time.
I Don't Really Know Exactly How It Happened But I Don't Like The Idea That I Would Ever Have Said I'm Going To Write About Racism Or Puberty Or Bullying.
I Always Wanted To Win The Super Bowl So I Could Take It And Hold It And See What Lies Beyond It. I Think It May Be The Sun.
It's My Belief That Sanity Lies In Realizing That Reality Is Not Exactly What We Had In Mind.
If You Want To Write Fiction, The Best Thing You Can Do Is Take Two Aspirins, Lie Down In A Dark Room, And Wait For The Feeling To Pass.
I Pounded Through The Houses, Staggering Down The Hallways, Falling Down The Steps. It Was A Hot Streaky Dawn Full Of Insecticides, Exhaust, Flowers That Could Make You Sick Or Fall In Love. My Battered Impala Was Still Parked There On The Side Of The Road And I Wanted To Lie Down On The Shredded Seats And Sleep And Sleep. But I Thought Of The Bones; I Could Hear Them Singing. They Needed Me To Write Their Song.
