With each step my heart broke for the person I would never find, the person who'd love me.

I didnt finish the stories until we went to the Philippines and I got malaria. I couldnt work and I didnt have any money, but I had seven stories. So I wrote three or four more.

What could be lonelier than trying to communicate?

They needed to share one secret after another with a beautiful woman, to peel away layer after layer, mask after mask, and still find themselves worshiped.

We’d torn open our chests and shown our cowardly hearts, and you can never stay friends after something like that

I really enjoy writing novels. Its like the ocean. You can just build a boat and take off.

And therefore I looked down into the great pity of a person’s life on this earth. I don’t mean that we all end up dead, that’s not the great pity. I mean that he couldn’t tell me what he was dreaming, and I couldn’t tell him what was real.