To make someone an icon is to make him an abstraction, and abstractions are incapable of vital communication with living people.

There are secrets within secrets, though--always.

I just think that fiction that isn't exploring what it means to be human today isn't art.

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?

I received 500,000 discrete bits of information today, of which maybe 25 are important. My job is to make some sense of it.

My chest bumps like a dryer with shoes in it.

Not that that mystical stuff's necessarily true: The only thing that's capital-T true is that you get to decide how you're going to try to see it.