Write the book you want to read, the one you cannot find.

Our friendship is made up of these brief frenzied exchanges, but the quality of our conversation, for all its feverish outpouring, is genuine.

He dares not concern himself with the future for fear of disturbing the present.

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

Bookish people, who are often maladroit people, persist in thinking they can master any subtlety so long as it's been shaped into acceptable expository prose.

So this is where the years of maturity deliver us - to this needy, selfish, unwieldy wish to be somebody else's first and primal other.

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