Mostly it's lies, writing novels. You set out to tell an untrue story and you try to make it believable, even to yourself. Which calls for details; any good lie does.

Isn't a memorial service meant to comfort the living?

I write because I want more than one life; I insist on a wider selection. It's greed, plain and simple.

People always call it luck when you've acted more sensibly than they have.

(About parenting:) ... all that tedium, broken up by little spurts of high drama.

It is not how much you love someone, but who you are when you are with him.

I don't type [when I write] because . . . I often have the feeling that everything flows directly from my right hand.