We don't choose what's going to wake us up.

As a writer we are our own instruments; we need to protect our instrument, because no one will protect it if we don't.

I think so much about how we read, about the nature of solitude, and of community, is changing in ways that none of us yet understand.

We can't protect ourselves from pain and heartache.

What's more important that spiritual life? It seems to me it's the bedrock of everything essential about being human.

Our teachers are everywhere. Our teachers are right in front of us, and take so many forms. All we need to do is to open our eyes, to be open to and aware of the possibilities. Otherwise, we walk sightless among miracles.

A writer with her work needs to be like a dog with a bone all the time. She needs to know where she's hidden it. Where she's stored the good stuff. She needs to keep gnawing at it, even after all the meat seems to be gone. When a student of mine says (okay, whines) that she's impatient, or tired, or the worst: isn't it good enough? this may be harsh, but she loses just a little bit of my respect. Because there is no room for impatience, or exhaustion, or self-satisfaction, or laziness. All of these really mean, simply, that the inner censor has won the day.