... we have so many voices in us, how do we know which ones to obey?

Death in its way comes just as much of a surprise as birth.

That is the mystery about writing: it comes out of afflictions, out of the gouged times, when the heart is cut open.

After that dark woman you search for someone who will fit into the irregular corners of your heart.

History is said to be written by the victors. Fiction, by contrast, is largely the work of injured bystanders.

Later as the day cools and they have gone in, the cry of the corncrake will carry across those same fields and over the lake to the blue-hazed mountain, such a lonely evening sound to it, like the lonely evening sound of the mothers, saying it is not our fault that we weep so, it is nature's fault that makes us first full, then empty.

Movie people are possessed by demons, but a very low form of demons.