It's painful to consider anything but writing.

The world is always changing brightness and hotness and soundness, I never know how it's going to be the next minute.

The Collector [John Fowles book] does such a good job of capturing the mindset of a capturer, and also that's become a banal trope of every second crime novel: the weirdo, fetishistic watcher/stalker/kidnapper/kidnapper of women or children.

...real loneliness is having no one to miss. Think yourself lucky you've known something worth missing.

I guess the feminism in "Room" springs to mind most.

We're standing on the deck that's all wooden like the deck of a ship. There's fuzz on it, little bundles. Grandma says it's some kind of pollen from a tree. "Which one?" I'm staring up at all the differents. "Can't help you there, I'm afraid." In Room we knowed what everything was called but in the world there's so much, persons don't even know the names.

Sometimes when persons say definitely it sounds actually less true.