Some stories stayed with you even when you wanted to forget them.

Ironically, now that my children are older and gone quite a bit, I find it harder to work when they're not around. Too much free time!

The weak are cruel. The strong have no need to be.

My grandmother was overwhelmed by what was happening to us. She ahd moved back into the past because the here and the now was too terrible.

That is the joy of reading fiction: when all is said and done, the novel belongs to the reader and his or her imagination.

I saw the end of his life right there in that single moment. His pride, his decency, his secrets, his death.

I wasn't good company, that was true, and people avoided me, but that was all right. I was too busy dreaming.