The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.

I've bumped into at least three people in town who all insist 'Winter's Bone' is about them.

I didn't really expect to be coming to the Oscars.

Long, dark, and lovely she had been, in those days before her mind broke and the parts scattered and she let them go.

Gail had a baby named Ned who was four months old, and a new look of baffled hurt, a left-behind sadness, like she saw that the great world kept spinning onward and away while she'd overnight become glued to her spot.

But I've been at writing long enough now to know that every three or four books I have to start a new direction.

I said shut up once already, with my mouth.