Everything's a scandal. Dying's a scandal. But we all do it.

It's true that some of us become better writers by living long enough. But this is also how we become worse writers. The trick is to die in between.

The modern meaning of life's end-when does it end? How does it end? How should it end? What is the value of life? How do we measure it?

Being called a 'bad citizen' is a compliment to a novelist, at least to my mind. That's exactly what we ought to do.

Time seems to pass. The world happens, unrolling into moments, and you stop to glance at a spider pressed to its web. There is a quickness of light and a sense of things outlined precisely and streaks of running luster on the bay. You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness. The wind makes a sound in the pines and the world comes into being, irreversibly, and the spider rides the wind-swayed web.

Doesn't our knowledge of death make life more precious?' What good is a preciousness based on fear and anxiety? It's an anxious quivering thing

People think about who they are in the stillest hour of the night.