This isn't about guilt or innocence, he says. The dinosaurs weren't morally good or bad, but they're all dead.

Her mom and dad are both doctors and want her to follow her dream, not turn out the way they have, no matter how much it costs them.

It's so quiet this high up, the feeling you get is that you're one of those space monkeys. You do the little job you're trained to do. Pull a lever. Push a button. You don't understand any of it, and then you just die.

Intellectual culture seems to separate high art from low art. Low art is horror or pornography or anything that has a physical component to it and engages the reader on a visceral level and evokes a strong sympathetic reaction. High art is people driving in Volvos and talking a lot. I just don't want to keep those things separate. I think you can use visceral physical experiences to illustrate larger ideas, whether they're emotional or spiritual. I'm trying to not exclude high and low art or separate them.

This is the worst problem with living history museums. They always leave the best parts out. Like typhus. And opium. And scarlet letters. Shunning. Witch-burning.

Her voice makes me think of her mouth makes me think of her breath makes me think of her breasts.

Discovering the 'impossible' ending to a new book makes me sick with joy and relief.