Writers talk about the agony of writing; I talk about the agony of not writing. — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share Image
“He who could write so easily, who could spend a thousand words down along his plunging fingers on the green-rubber keyboard of his machine,… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
“They had known it, the patient, stubborn men who for years had argued and written and rephrased and fought over the Constitution and the… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
We are born in innocence. ... Corruption comes later. The first fear is a corruption, the first reaching for something that defies us. The… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
Why didn't children ever see that they could damage and harm their parents as much as parents could damage and harm children? — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
Any life he'd ever heard of, his own included, was burdened with emotions - love, loss, jobs, jealousy, money, death, pain. But if you… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
Writers talk about the agony of writing; I talk about the agony of not writing. — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
I rewrite everything, almost idiotically. I rewrite and work and work, and rewrite and rewrite some more. — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
“When he’d wanted to find out about a scared guy in a jalopy with his whole family behind him hoping for a living in… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
I've told youngsters not to write their autobiographical novel at the age of twenty-one; to save it for the time when they're fifty-one or… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
“THE CITY WAS ASLEEP. New York, the nervous, keyed-up city, was almost at rest two hours past midnight. Watching the sleeping stone under the… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
“Slow and unarguable, the old desire for love, for a close-shared life, struck at him, not with Kathy, not with Anne, not with any… — Laura Z. Hobson Copy Share
