American love — like coke in green glass bottles...they don't make it anymore.

Our consciousness, a startling outgrowth of the universe, is possibly its most important part, the fraction of existence that can think, feel, marvel at itself.

Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life.

Perhaps this is the purpose of all art, all writing, on the murders, fiction and non-fiction: Simply to participate.

If you give me a typewriter and I'm having a good day, I can write a scene that will astonish its readers. That will perhaps make them laugh, perhaps make them cry - that will have some emotional clout to it. It doesn't cost much to do that.

The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences.

If you look at that incredible burst of fantastic characters that emerged in the late 19th century/early 20th century, you can see so many of the fears and hopes of those times embedded in those characters. Even in throwaway bits of contemporary culture you can often find some penetrating insights into the real world around us.