I hate requests. They make me feel unhappy. It's like when I take a book out of the library. As soon as I start to read it, all I can think about is when I'll finish it.

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.

Most human activities are predicated on the assumption that life goes on. If you take that premise away, what is there left?

For novelists or musicians, if they really want to create something, they need to go downstairs and find a passage to get into the second basement. What I want to do is go down there, but still stay sane.

I wonder how it turns out that we all lead such different lives. Take you and your sister, for example. You're born to the same parents, you grow up in the same household, you're both girls. How do you end up with such wildly different personalities?...One puts on a bikini like little semaphore flags and lies by the pool looking sexy, and the other puts on her school bathing suit and swims her heart out like a dolphin.

Distance might not solve anything, no matter how far you run.

All imperfections are forced upon the imperfect, so the 'perfect' can live content and oblivious.