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

So she listened hard. And she began to evolve, because stories work their magic that way. They build conviction and erode conviction in equal measure.

Her sister's shoes. They sparkeled even in the darkening afternoon. They sparkeled like yellow diamonds, and embers of blood and thorny stars.

It isn’t hard to find evil in this world. Evil is always more easily imagined than good, somehow.

That's the real power of art, I think. Not to chide but to provoke challenge. Otherwise why bother?

I'm not a writer because I want to make money. I'm a writer because I'm a very slow thinker, but I do care about thinking, and the only way I know how to think with any kind of finesse is by telling stories.

He knew about being alone. The weather was always cold there.