When one is nothing, one invents. It fills a void.

He didn't know of course. Not really. And yet that was what he said, and I was soothed to hear it. For I knew what he meant. We all have our sorrows, and although the exact delineaments, weight, and dimensions of grief are different for everyone, the color of grief is common to us all. "I know," he said, because he was human, and therefore, in a way, he did.

There was no single moment when I thought, Aha! What a great idea! Rather there was a slow and gradual accumulation of numerous small ideas.

But there can be no secrets in a house where there are children.

I read *old* novels. The reason is simple. I prefer proper endings.

I know there are people who don't read fiction at all, and I find it hard to understand how they can bear to be inside the same head all the time.

There are too many books in the world to read in a single lifetime; you have to draw the line somewhere.