One of the wonderful things about being a writer is that you're constantly dredging up some arcane knowledge or long-forgotten experience, rediscovering old passions and interests.

You got to learn to take what people are willing to give.

I learned long ago that loss is not only probable but inevitable. I know what it means to lose everything, to let go of one life and find another. And now I feel, with a strange, deep certainty, that it must be my lot in life to be taught that lesson over and over again.

It's human nature to want to think the best of others, but if you listen carefully, people will always tell you who they are.

So is it just human nature to believe that things happen for a reason - to find some shred of meaning even in the worst experiences?

One of the wonderful things about being a writer is that you're constantly dredging up some arcane knowledge or long-forgotten experience, rediscovering old passions and interests.

Time constricts and flattens, you know. It's not evenly weighted. Certain moments linger in the mind and others disappear.