My former wife is a very eccentric woman, which is why I still love her.

I realized that I might not ever make it as a writer, that it might be because I wasn't good enough, or that it might be because the odds were just too long.

Great minds sink alike, right?

We've been hearing about the death of the novel ever since the day after Don Quixote was published.

I think, when I'm writing, I have a more clinical view than I do when I'm reading. I like pretending to be God and basically determining the fate of my characters. But as a reader, I'm a sucker. I'm very sentimental. I get upset when people that I like die. And yet I have killed off characters in my books quite heartlessly, and sometimes found that readers were very upset by it.

You know, Im always surprised when I read profiles, and they make me sound so jaded. I am so not jaded.

Delia's arms were inscribed with a grid of self- inflicted wounds, an intricate text of self-loathing