I never write a book unless I can't help it. Something has to bother me, like a mosquito, until I have to do something to relieve the itch.

The sweet accident of coincidence is the best foundation on which to build.

We live in our tales of ourselves, she thought, and ignore as best we can the contradictions, and the lapses, and the abrasions of plot against our mortal souls.

She dreamed of leaving, but she had too little exposure to the world to imagine where to go.

From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.

I like classical music of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and I adore Bach above all.

Everyone dies. It's a question of where and how, that's all.