I've always thought sleep was a wonderful invention. Not that being awake isn't nice too, of course. But when I get up in the morning, I think, boy, only fourteen more hours and I can be back to sleep again ... And I never dream, because it distracts my mind from pure sleeping.

I'm beginning to think that maybe it's not just how much you love someone. Maybe what matters is who you are when you're with them.

Reading any piece of writing aloud is an acid test, particularly when it comes to dialogue. There were writers I'd always admired who suddenly rang false when I spoke their words in our living room.

People who hadn't suffered a loss yet struck me as not quite grown up.

In real life I avoid all parties altogether, but on paper I can mingle with the best of them

How plotless real life was!

For my own family, I would always choose the makeshift, surrogate family formed by various characters unrelated by blood.