In the American soul there is a lonely individual standing in a vast landscape.

Not long ago, a novelist could believe he could have an effect on our consciousness of terror. Today, the men who shape and inflence human consciousness are the terrorists.

There are dead stars that still shine because their light is trapped in time. Where do I stand in this light, which does not strictly exist? (155)

A dead afternoon in a dark bar was not the worst of fates.

The force of a death should be enormous but how can you know what kind of man you've killed or who was the braver and stronger if you have to peer through layers of glass that deliver the image but obscure the meaning of the act? War has a conscience or it's ordinary murder.

Writers in repressive societies are considered dangerous. That's why so many of them are in jail.

Insanity's so personal. It's hard to know who shares our secrets.