Fiction, poetry, music...these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated.

[I]f the writer does his job right, what he basically does is remind the reader of how smart the reader is.

My bones are ringing the way sometimes people say their ears are ringing, I'm so tired.

I will probably write an hour a day and spend eight hours a day biting my knuckle and worrying about not writing.

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says 'Morning, boys. How's the water?' And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes 'What the hell is water?'

There's a weird kind of paradox that the more expensive the vacation is, the more potentially anxiety-producing it is.

I don't want to hurt myself. I want to stop hurting.