Every time I get through the work on a book of nonfiction, I say I'll never do it again; it takes so much out of you.

He wanted to fly in lightweight contraptions with her.

We've become a nation of indoor cats, he'd said. A nation of doubters, worriers, overthinkers. Thank God these weren't the kind of Americans who settled this country. They were a different breed! They crossed the country in wagons with wooden wheels! People croaked along the way, and they barely stopped. Back then, you buried your dead and kept moving.

Books have a unique way of stopping time in a particular moment and saying: Let’s not forget this.

There are many Saudi women doctors, and there are many wealthy and powerful and well-educated Saudi women who circumvent the restrictions put upon them, quietly or otherwise.

Every time my brain parks the car neatly in the driveway, my mouth drives through the back of the garage.

And there is a chance that everything we did was incorrect, but stasis is itself criminal for those with the means to move, and the means to weave communion between people.