I suppose if I didn't write for a living and it couldn't be published, I would have wanted to write anyway. I think there's something about the act of writing that organizes thoughts and memories.

I flattered myself that I was rather empathetic, that I had rather good imaginative empathy. I've realized now that that was a complete self-delusion and that I didn't really have any comprehension of what it was like to see your entire life go catastrophically wrong in a matter of moments.

Trying to defend religion by invoking science is like claiming that three plus four equals ice cream.

I suppose if I didn't write for a living and it couldn't be published, I would have wanted to write anyway. I think there's something about the act of writing that organizes thoughts and memories.

One of the rather unedifying truths about grief is it does block out more or less everything. It has a solipsistic quality to it.

For most of my life I have known how to control my feelings. If you can control your feelings, you can pretty much control your whole world. It's amazingly effective.

I've discovered that, in order for life to go on, you have to believe in necessary fantasies such as what you think is going to happen next week will actually happen, the people who are alive right now will be alive next week.