What terrorists gain, novelists lose.

In my experience, writing a novel tends to create its own structure, its own demands, its own language, its own ending.

As technology advances in complexity and scope, fear becomes more primitive.

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.

Sometimes a thing that's hard is hard because you're doing it wrong. (Point Omega)

All plots tend to move deathward. This is the nature of plots.

First you look for discipline and control. You want to exercise your will, bend the language your way, bend the world your way. You want to control the flow of impulses, images, words, faces, ideas. But there's a higher place, a secret aspiration. You want to let go. You want to lose yourself in language, become a carrier or messenger.