Smells could bring a person back clearer than pictures even could.

I’m too shy for personal appearances, and I’ve found out that anytime I talk about my writing, I can’t do any writing for many weeks afterward.

I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s not just how much you love someone. Maybe what matters is who you are when you’re with them.

I never think about the actual process of writing. I suppose I have a superstition about examining it too closely.

Time, in general, has always been a central obsession of mine – what it does to people, how it can constitute a plot all on its own. So naturally, I am interested in old age.

Alex Barrow’s broad face, with the roughened skin that gave him an air of experience. His powerful, packed, wrestler’s body. The thick black fur at the base of his throat. It was wrong to call...

I don’t want to say I hear voices; well, actually I do hear voices, but I don’t think it’s supernatural. I think it’s just that when characters are given enough texture and backbone, then lo...

Face it,’ I said. ‘There is no true life. Your true life is the one you end up with, whatever it may be. You just do the best you can with what you’ve got,’ I...

I’ve always enjoyed studying the small clues that indicate a particular class level.

I’ve never quite believed that one chance is all I get

II would advise any beginning writer to write the first drafts as if no one else will ever read them — without a though about publication — and only in the last draft to consider...

When I’m working on something, I proceed as if no one else will ever read it.

Ghosts… they are the completions of the deads intended gestures, there unfinished plans still hanging in the air – something like when you forgot one thing and so you pantomime the motion.

I expect that any day now, I will have said all I have to say; I’ll have used up all my characters, and then I’ll be free to get on with my real life.

People always call it luck when you’ve acted more sensibly than they have.

It seems to me that good novels celebrate the mystery in ordinary life, and summing it all up in psychological terms strips the mystery away.

Ah, God, it’s barbaric, however you look at it,’ he told Ruth.’What, cremation?’ she asked.’Death.

If I waited till I felt like writing, I’d never write at all.

But if you never did anything you couldn’t undo you’d end up doing nothing at all.

I forget a book as soon as I finish writing it, which is not always a good thing.

While armchair travelers dream of going places, traveling armchairs dream of staying put.

It’s true that it’s a solitary occupation, but you would be surprised at how much companionship a group of imaginary characters can offer once you get to know them.

It seems to me that since I’ve had children, I’ve grown richer and deeper. They may have slowed down my writing for a while, but when I did write, I had more of a self...

In real life I avoid all parties altogether, but on paper I can mingle with the best of them.

It is not how much you love someone, but who you are when you are with him.

I just want to be told a story, and I want to believe I’m living that story, and I don’t give a thought to influences or method or any other writerly concerns.

I’ve always thought a hotel ought to offer optional small animals. I mean a cat to sleep on your bed at night, or a dog of some kind to act pleased when you come in....

My decision to start a new one is just that, a decision, since I never get inspirations.

The one ironclad rule is that I have to try. I have to walk into my writing room and pick up my pen every weekday morning.

And I am interested in the fact that class is very much a factor in America, even though it’s not supposed to be.

I read so I can live more than one life in more than one place.

I save the best of myself for novels, and I believe it shows.

When I read, I’m purely a reader.

My stories are never quite good enough.

But what I hope for in a book – either one that I write or one that I read – is transparency. I want the story to shine through. I don’t want to think of...

At most I’ll spend three or four hours daily, sometimes less.

Why wasn’t there an etiquette book for runaway wives?

I spend about a year between novels.

Ever consider what pets must think of us? I mean, here we come back from a grocery store with the most amazing haul – chicken, pork, half a cow. They must think we’re the greatest...

My writing day has grown shorter as I’ve aged, although it seems to produce the same number of pages.

It wasn’t what you said”, he told her.”It was how I felt when you said it”.

But what I hope for from a book – either one that I write or one that I read – is transparency. I want the story to shine through. I don’t want to think of...

People imagine that missing a loved one works kind of like missing cigarettes. The first day is really hard but the next day is less hard and so forth, easier and easier the longer you...

I think it must be very hard to be one of the new young writers who are urged to put themselves forward when it may be the last thing on earth they’d be good at.

None of my own experiences ever finds its way into my work. However, the stages of my life — motherhood, middle age, etc. — often influence my subject matter.

Not until the final draft do I force myself to remember that I’m going to have to think about how it will affect other people.

You know why I like to talk to you, Delia? You never interrupt with your experiences. Not jiggling your foot till you get a chance to jump in with your life history.

For me, writing something down was the only road out.

I’m falling into disrepair

I was standing in the schoolyard waiting for a child when another mother came up to me. Have you found work yet? she asked. Or are you still just writing?