Words are more ardent if a man must struggle to find them.

My mother imparted her daily truths so she could help my older brothers and me rise above our circumstances. We lived in San Francisco's Chinatown. Like most of the other Chinese children who played in the back alleys of restaurants and curio shops, I didn't think we were poor. My bowl was always full, three five-course meals every day, beginning with a soup full of mysterious things I didn't want to know the names of.

Sometimes you change to survive, and some things you don't give up, or you're too prideful, and then you think well, what's pride? Is it a good thing? Maybe it's a bad thing. That's what I look at in my life. It's always a question in my life I look at, and I never find the answer, because if I did, probably I wouldn't have books to write.

I'd like to be more forgiving. There are times when I've had a hard time forgiving people who have betrayed me.

I was punched breathless by the strongest emotions I have ever felt and they are now stored in my intuition as a writer.

I've always been a magnet for guilt.

Whenever I'm with my mother, I feel as though I have to spend the whole time avoiding land mines.