For the record, knowing when people are only pretending to like you isn't such a great skill to have.

I was tired and crazy and rushed, and every time I boarded a plane, I wanted the plane to crash. I envied people dying of cancer. I hated my life. I was tired and bored with my job and my furniture, and I couldn’t see any way to change things. Only end them.

Either a species learns to control its own population, or something like disease, famine, war, will take care of the issue.

You gain power by pretending to be weak. By contrast, you make people feel strong. You save people by letting them save you.

The short stories tend to be a journalistic gathering of anecdotes that are put together to make something larger.

If you knew that your life was merely a phase or short, short segment of your entire existence, how would you live? Knowing nothing 'real' was at risk, what would you do? You'd live a gigantic, bold, fun, dazzling life. You know you would. That's what the ghosts want us to do - all the exciting things they no longer can.

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