The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it.

This was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.

The further you go in writing the more alone you are.

The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

I always worked until I had something done and I always stopped when I knew what was going to happen next. That way I could be sure of going on the next day.

When I have an idea, I turn down the flame, as if it were a little alcohol stove, as low as it will go. Then it explodes and that is my idea.

One cat just leads to another. The place is so damned big it doesn't really seem as though there were many cats until you see them all moving like a mass migration at feeding time.