It is in the thousands of days of trying, failing, sitting, thinking, resisting, dreaming, raveling, unraveling that we are at our most engaged, alert, and alive.

I could spend two years cross-legged on my floor and feel like I was working.

I do whatever is necessary in order to maintain the equanimity we all need to withstand the disappointment and rejection that are the lot of every writer, no matter where we are in our careers.

If we grew up with nothing, we're complicated with that. That's the thing I keep hearing from people.

My journals were a clearing house - a garbage can. Once I was writing seriously, I understood that this was the stuff that didn't belong in my work.

Our pain is a part of who we authentically are.

Our minds have a tendency to wander. To duck and feint and keep us at a slight remove from the moment at hand.