I see this quality [real interest and joy] in the work of [Pavel] Chekhov, of course, and [Alexei] Tolstoy and really just about any great writer.

[Reading Swing Time] made me a feel a little bit like when I used to read David [Foster] Wallace. Like, "I can't play that game. I wish I could, but I can't do it."

I think if someone could demonstrate to me that fiction did no good, I would still do it, because I think it does good for me.

Err in the direction of kindness.

I've always wanted to write energetic, atypical sentences, i.e., sentences that were not normal or bland.

I used to joke about this but I've recently realized that I really believe it: I spent many years training myself to write very slowly for pretty good money. So the idea of writing really quickly for free offends me.

All traditions are also full of meanness for the sake of meanness.