One must avoid ambition in order to write. Otherwise something else is the goal: some kind of power beyond the power of language. And the power of language, it seems to me, is the only kind of power a writer is entitled to.

If we had to say what writing is, we would have to define it essentially as an act of courage.

very bright teeth as big and orderly as piano keys.

What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.

There's a paradox in rereading. You read the first time for rediscovery: an encounter with the confirming emotions. But you reread for discovery: you go to the known to figure out the workings of the unknown, the why of the familiar how.

To listen acutely is to be powerless, even if you sit on a throne.

We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.