By the end of the first decade of writing, I considered myself a confirmed failure in the eyes of the world.

It is sort of weird being honored for the worst day of your life.

By the end of the first decade of writing, I considered myself a confirmed failure in the eyes of the world.

You have the mainstream bourgeois life of the U.S., Europe, the "developed" world - the life of technology, education, mortgages, careers, a certain level of physical comfort - while on the other hand, several billion people on the planet exist on less than a dollar a day. That's a huge and terrible reality to get your head around.

There was no such thing as perfection in this world, only moments of such extreme transparency that you forgot yourself, a holy mercy if there ever was one.

Americans are incredibly polite as long as they get what they want.

The funny thing is, about the time I let go of any aspiration toward worldly success, that's about the time I started writing decent work.