Long ago, long ago. The simple things come back to us. They rest for a moment by our ribcages then suddenly reach in and twist our hearts a notch backward.

Sometimes, in life, nothing happens. But, sometimes, nothing happens beautifully.

With all respects to heaven, I like it here.

I have the most charmed, most - I feel entirely blessed and lucky that I have the life that I have.

I think one of the biggest political failures, and the biggest social failures, over the past few years has been the failure of empathy; not being able to look at the other person down the street.

I want the younger writer to know that she or he is meaningful, that what they have to say is powerful in this world. But they can't come indoors, they can't close the curtains, they can't, like, lock themselves away from the world and say nothing.

Literature can remind us that not all life is already written down: there are still so many stories to be told.