I think you only learn what kind of personality you have by committing to things.

I mean, if I went into my closet, I could find a previous draft and try to figure that out, but it takes a long time for me to find the voice to tell a story in. I was working from other points of view for a couple years there.

Who would have thought something that happened that long ago could have such power?

You save yourself or you remain unsaved.

So there are cakes and pillows and colors galore, but underneath this more obvious patchwork quilt are places like a quiet room where you can go and hold someone's hand and not have to say anything.

I loved the way the burned-out flashcubes of the Kodak Instamatic marked a moment that had passed, one that would now be gone forever except for a picture.

How to Commit the Perfect Murder" was an old game in heaven. I always chose the icicle: the weapon melts away.