There are two kinds of people. One kind, you can just tell by looking at them at what point they congealed into their final selves. It might be a very nice self, but you know you can expect no more surprises from it. Whereas, the other kind keep moving, changing... They are fluid. They keep moving forward and making new trysts with life, and the motion of it keeps them young. In my opinion, they are the only people who are still alive. You must be constantly on your guard against congealing.

At times ... one is downright thankful for the self-absorption of other people.

The act of longing for something will always be more intense than the requiting of it.

During the act of writing I have told myself something that I didn't know I knew.

Much of the activity we think of as writing is, actually, getting ready to write.

One is taught by experience to put a premium on those few people who can appreciate you for what you are.

Some things arrive in their own mysterious hour, on their own terms and not yours, to be seized or relinquished forever.