Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report written on birds that he'd had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books about birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.

My best teachers were mess, failure, death, mistakes, and the people I hated, including myself.

I naturally prefer the company of people who hold grudges, as long as they are not held against me.

He told me about his monster. His sounded just like mine without quite so much mascara. When people shine a little light on their monster, we find out how similar most of our monsters are.

There is nothing you can buy, achieve, own, or rent that can fill up that hunger inside for a sense of fulfillment and wonder.

... one of the immutable laws of being human is that the people who show up are the right people. [p. 65]

Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.