I could claim any number of high-flown reasons for writing, just as you can explain certain dogs behavior... But maybe, it’s that they’re dog, and that’s what dogs do.

We can only die in the future, I thought; right now we are always alive.

The year I began to say vahz instead of vase, a man I barely knew nearly accidentally killed me.

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.

Just once in my life--oh, when have I ever wanted anything just once in my life?

I'm not first and foremost interested in story and the what-happens, but I'm interested in who's telling it and how they're telling it and the effects of whatever happened on the characters and the people.

I'm not good at small talk; I'm not good at big talk; and medium talk just doesn't come up.