In all my life I'd never been approached this way, the car pulling up, the Where you going? It was something I wish had happened hundreds of times. I was a looker - someone who looked over at every car at every traffic light, hoping something would happen, and almost never finding anyone looking back - always everyone looking forwards, and every time I felt stupid. Why should people look at you? Why should they care?

I always like the idea of doing interviews with somebody but completely seriously not ever mentioning what that person is generally known for.

I'm never a fan of the sociopathic kind of reviewing, people who are sort of self-immolating and have social problems or whatever, and let it out in literary-criticism form. I just feel like book reviewing should be respectful and calm and not filled with bile.

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.

We lose weeks like buttons, like pencils.

But I'm thinking about 12 things at once, a hundred thousand times a day. Most people do, I would imagine.

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.