Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.

Goodness was more difficult than evil. Evil men knew that more than good men. That's why they became evil. That's why it stuck with them. Evil was for those who could never reach the truth. It was a mask for stupidity and lack of love. Even if people laughed at the notion of goodness, if they found it sentimental, or nostalgic, it didn't matter -- it was none of those things, he said, and it had to be fought for.

I'm not so sure that I can teach people how to, you know, write dialogue or create plot or anything like that. But if I can get them and grab them by the scruff of the neck and say, you can do this, and if I see that fire in their eyes, that's when I think I know a writer.

It was a silence that heard itself, awful and beautiful.

One look at each other and it was immediately understood that they both needed a clean slate,,, The obliteration of memory.

He realized that he had thought only about the first step, never imagined the last.

There's a part of me that thinks perhaps we go on existing in a place even after we've left it.