Someone asked me if I would like to write a man on death row, be a pen pal, and I was like, sure. I volunteered. I had been in a place in my life - a relationship had ended; my parents were getting elderly - I was kind of adrift. The name that was given to me, just randomly, was Todd Willingham. And he wrote me a letter, and in this letter, he thanked me for writing him and [said that] if I would like to visit, he would put me on his visitor list... I was just really struck by the letter from Todd. It was very polite; it was very kind.

Mostly you meet friends when traveling by accident, like by sitting next to them on the train, or in a restaurant, or in a holding cell.

I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check.

Even in the worst tragedies and crisis, there’s no reason to add to everyone’s misery by looking miserable yourself.

Do I really deserve this pleasure? This is American, too-the insecurity about whether we have earned our happiness.

At the end of the day I am a writer, and if I don't take care of this, no one else will.

You might get nothing out of it at all except a beautiful, long life where all you did was follow your gorgeous curiosity. And that should be enough too.