Do people still shoot at presidents? I thought there were more stimulating targets.' (20)

Dying was just an extended version of Ash Wednesday.

At night the sky was very near, sprawled in star smoke and gamma cataclysms, but she didn't see it the way she used to, as soul extension, dumb guttural wonder, a thing that lived outside language in the oldest part of her.

There are times when you want to stop working at faith and just be washed in a blowing wind that tells you everything.

The world isn't going to be destroyed, but you don't feel safe anymore in your plane or train or office or auditorium.

Naturally a direct comparison of terrorist and novelist is complete nonsense. But there was once a time when the novelist also had some influence on how his contemporaries thought, the way they saw the world, the way they lived.

Because friends have to be brutally honest with each other. I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you what I was thinking, especially at a time like this