He had senile dementia and liked to go outside naked, but he could still do two things perfectly: win at checkers and write out prescriptions.

I struggle with confidence, every time. I’m never completely sure I can write another book. Maybe my scope is too grand, my questions too hard, surely readers won’t want to follow me here. A novel is like a cathedral, it knocks you down to size when you enter into it.

I'm of a fearsome mind to throw my arms around every living librarian who crosses my path, on behalf of the souls they never knew they saved.

My father wears his faith like the bronze breastplate of God's footsoldiers while our mother's is more like a good cloth coat with a secondhand fit.

The truth needs so little rehearsal.

People read books to escape the uncertainties of life.

Does a man become a revolutionary out of the belief he's entitled to joy rather than submission?