Everything is still falling apart.

I'm working harder than I have ever worked in my entire life, but what the hell, my life is my job now, and my job is my life and that's the way it should be.

I didn't use anybody's story. I used the context and the structure of the situation. People were so, so desperate to tell their story and begin to digest their experience - like turning it into a story - that after the fist few weeks I could go with a pad and pencil and take notes. People didn't seem at all bothered by that.

History is nothing except monsters or victims. Or witnesses.

It seems that so much writing is being done in the nineteenth-century model, where every connection has to be thoroughly explained.

After you find out all the things that can go wrong, your life becomes less about living and more about waiting.

Stanislavski was right, you can find fresh pain every time you discover what you pretty much already know.