A trial is two narratives competing for your attention.

Memories, you see, hurt. The good ones most of all.

Hope is cruel. Hope reminds me of what almost was. Hope makes the physical ache return.

Sometimes even when the book is over I dont know whos good and whos bad. Its really more interesting, I think, to write about gray characters than it is to write about black and white.

Man plans. God laughs.

In the end, we know what makes us happy. We also know what makes us unhappy. That's the irony. We know and yet we still mess it up. That's part of the human condition, no, and why we need to work on it.

I would never write a memoir, because it would be too boring.