There is no hatred in my love for you. Only a sadness I feel all the more strongly for my inability to explain or describe it.

Every love story is a ghost story.

Entertainment provides relief. Art provokes engagement.

Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic and a dyslexic?

What passes for hip cynical transcendence of sentiment is really some kind of fear of being really human, since to be really human [...] is probably to be unavoidably sentimental and naïve and goo-prone and generally pathetic.

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

Under fun's new administration, writing fiction becomes a way to go deep inside yourself and illuminate precisely the stuff you don't want to see or let anyone else see, and this stuff usually turns out (paradoxically) to be precisely the stuff all writers and readers share and respond to, feel.