It's a terrible thing when a person dies, whatever the circumstances. A hole opens up in the world, and we need to pay the proper respects. If we don't, the hole will never be filled in again.

The best point of my novels, I think, is their humor. I want to keep many my works humorous.

Overhead, the two moons worked together to bathe the world in a strange light.

Somewhere in his body--perhaps in the marrow of his bones--he would continue to feel her absence.

It’s pretty thin, the wall separating healthy confidence and unhealthy Pride.

I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers. Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light, but my fingers touched nothing.

Each person feels pain in his own way, each has his own scars.