It's that or get fat again," she told herself, as she . . . searched the windows for new merchandise. The thrill was in the trying on, in the buying. The moment after she had acquired something new it became meaningless to her. . . .

I have only one reader -- me. I'm the average reader. If I like it, that's all I worry about.

I'm convinced that it's energy and humor. The two of them combined equal charm.

The only way to find out if you can write is to set aside a certain period every day and try. Save enough money to give yourself six months to be a full-time writer. Work every day and the pages will pile up.

Billy thought privately that the rich are different only because people treat them as if they were. Sometimes she wondered why people bothered. Yet, there it was, that slight self-consciousness, the faint over-consideration, that eagerness to charm . . .