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.

How many beginnings before you see the lies in your excitement?

I see contemporary violence as a kind of sardonic response to the promise of consumer fulfilment in America.

What you see is not what we see. What you see is distracted by memory, by being who you are, all this time, for all these years.

Writing is a concentrated form of thinking.

There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live.

Just because it's on the radio doesn't mean we have to suspend belief in the evidence of our senses.