Walking on the land or digging in the fine soil I am intensely aware that time quivers slightly, changes occurring in imperceptible and minute ways, accumulating so subtly that they seem not to exist. Yet the tiny shifts in everything--cell replication, the rain of dust motes, lengthening hair, wind-pushed rocks--press inexorably on and on.

All the travelin I ever done is going around the coffeepot looking for the handle.

You know, one of the tragedies of real life is that there is no background music.

If you get the landscape right, the characters will step out of it, and they'll be in the right place.

I think it's important to leave spaces in a story for readers to fill in from their own experience.

Ordinary parties, he thought, were subtle games of sexual and social badminton.

It's easier to die if others around you are dying.