To deny that there was this dark side of life would be like pretending that the cold of winter was somehow only a temporary illusion, a way station on the way to the higher "reality" of long, warm, pleasant summers. But summer, it turned out, was no more real than the snow that melted in wintertime.

I think of myself as a really happy person.

Everybody has a world, and that world is completely hidden until we begin to inquire. As soon as we do, that entire world opens to us and yields itself. And you see how full and complex it is.

I'm not an urban person.

I became paralyzed as an artist with writer's block.

I'm interested in themes that endure from generation to generation.

The best advice on writing I've ever received is to take it seriously, because to do it well is all-consuming.