I love to write, so it rarely seems like work - even when it gets arduous.

Choice, I've always believed, is all that separates us from animals.

Waking, after all, was an almost natal state. You surfaced without history, then spent the blinks and yawns reassembling your past, shuffling the shards into chronological order before fortifying yourself for the present.

There are threads in our lives. You pull one, and everything else gets affected.

This world can only give me reminders of what I don't have, can never have, didn't have for long enough.

Catch me on a good day, I think half of my books aren't too bad. Catch me on a bad day, I think I've never written a good line.

Maybe there are some things we were put on this earth not to know.