Light is good company, when alone; I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.

You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.

Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.

I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.

As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.

I want to be violated by insight.

I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.