People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues.

Narratives have the same power, I think. Some readers of my novels ask me, "Why do you understand me?". That's a huge pleasure of mine because it means that readers and I can make our narratives relative.

There had to be something wrong with my life. I should have been born a Yugoslavian shepherd who looked up at the Big Dipper every night.

I realize now that the reality of things is not something you convey to people but something you make.

I learned that realism can come in all shapes and sizes. The world is big enough for different values to coexist.

If you never noticed, it never happened.

I don't really know if it's the right thing to do, making new life. Kids grow up, generations take their place. What does it all come to? More hills bulldozed and more ocean fronts filled in? Faster cars and more cats run over? Who needs it?