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.

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

Maybe the light's at the other end of the tunnel.

Eruptions of talent continue to happen in Haiti, in spite of everything.

I realized I was never going to have any peace with myself unless I made an honest stab at trying to write.

I have a horror of being self-indulgent and wasting time, and there is that risk in doing this kind of work. Are you totally deluded in sitting down at a desk every day and trying to write something? Is it self-indulgent, or might it possibly lead to something worthwhile? At a certain point I decided to keep on because I felt like the work was getting better, and I was taking great pleasure in that.

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.