I had consumed a lot of American culture, but I was not quite prepared for the reality of American poverty.

Why did people ask "What is it about?" as if a novel had to be about only one thing.

And it's wrong of you to think that love leaves room for nothing else. It's possible to love something and still condescend to it.

Your life belongs to you and you alone.

This was love: a string of coincidences that gathered significance and became miracles.

You can't write a script in your mind and then force yourself to follow it. You have to let yourself be.

For centuries, the world divided human beings into two groups and then proceeded to exclude and oppress one group. It is only fair that the solution to the problem acknowledge that.