The voice of the nickly reflection of the moon was not as deep as you might expect. It was a singer’s voice, though, a tenor, one that loved itself without reservation. “I feel time like you dream. Your dreams are jumbled. You can’t remember the order of your dreams, and when you recall them, the memories bend. Faces change. It’s all in puddles and ripples. That’s what time is for me.

I'll always be working on five things at once, usually with those documents open at the same time because if I get stuck somewhere I'll jump over to something else. That's how my head has always worked.

I had the sensation that I might always be running like this, that I would always have to run, and that I would always be able to run.

I have no idea how people function without near-constant internal chaos. I'd lose my mind.

Some of these kids just don't plain know how good they are: how smart and how much they have to say. You can tell them. You can shine that light on them, one human interaction at a time.

I publish my own books, so there isn't a certain editor I owe the book to at a publishing house.

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