Anyone's childhood can be an act of disablement if rehearsed and replayed and squinted at in a certain light. . .

Words are our life. We are human because we use language. So I think we are less human when we use less language.

Eventually, everything gets stuck between a pair of parentheses or buried in the bottom of a trunk.

Anyone's childhood can be an act of disablement if rehearsed and replayed and squinted at in a certain light. . .

This is why I read novels: so I can escape my own unrelenting monologue.

The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.

The recounting of a life is a cheat...even our own stories are obscenely distorted.