Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness.

Become like a sheet of blotting paper and soak it all in. Later on you can figure out what to keep and what to unload.

Of course you keep telling yourself there's something to be learned from everything, and growing old shouldn't be that hard. That's the general drift.

When I write about a 15-year old, I jump, I return to the days when I was that age. It's like a time machine. I can remember everything. I can feel the wind. I can smell the air. Very actually. Very vividly.

Everybody has to start somewhere. You have your whole future ahead of you. Perfection doesn't happen right away.

It seems to me that very sad things always contain an element of the comical

I never could stand being forced to do something I didn't want to do at a time I didn't want to do it. Whenever I was able to do something I liked to do, though, when I wanted to do it, and the way I wanted to do it, I'd give it everything I had.