The problem is that once the rules of art are debunked, and once the unpleasant realities the irony diagnoses are revealed and diagnosed, 'then' what do we do?

Most of the writers I know are weird hybrids. There's a strong streak of egomania coupled with extreme shyness. Writing's kind of like exhibitionism in private. And there's also a strange loneliness, and a desire to have some kind of conversation with people, but not a real great ability to do it in person.

It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience.

The fun of reading as "an exchange between consciousnesses, a way for human beings to talk to each other about stuff we can't normally talk about."

I had kind of a midlife crisis at twenty which probably doesn’t augur well for my longevity

The interesting thing is why we're so desperate for this anesthetic against loneliness.

I'm very bright, but I'm terrified of sounding like someone who thinks he's very bright-because those people are assholes.