In my head there's a broken balcony I fall off of when I speak.

I know when a story is finished when there is not a single thing more I can think to do to it. And since I know at the start what the last line will be, I know when I've reached that point as logically as I can that it's finished. As for the rewriting-it's not foolproof, of course, but if you're honest about having thought of every possibility and you still come back to what you have, what more can you do?

There’s so much I can’t read because I get so exasperated. Someone starts describing the character boarding the plane and pulling the seat back. And I just want to say, Babe, I have been downtown. I have been up in a plane. Give me some credit.

I know that homes burn and that you should think what to save before they start to. Not because, in the heat of it, everything looks as valuable as everything else. But, because nothing looks worth the bother, not even your life.

They say the smart dog obeys but the smarter dog knows when to disobey.

The only time the word baby doesn't scare me is the time that it should, when it is what a man calls me.

And I see that not touching for so long was a drive to the beach with the windows rolled up so the waves feel that much colder.