He remained heartbroken, which meant one of two things: either his love was pure and true and earthshakingly significant; or he was addicted to feeling forlorn, he liked being heartbroken.

If love were endless, if it were on tap, it wouldn't hit us the way it does. And we certainly wouldn't write about it.

My change from girl to boy was far less dramatic than the distance anybody travels from infancy to adulthood.

She was a large, disordered woman, like a child's drawing that didn't stay within the lines.

And in some of the houses, people were getting old and sick and were dying, leaving others to grieve. It was happening all the time, unnoticed, and it was the thing that really mattered. What really mattered in life, what gave it weight, was death.

When you stood between somebody you loved and death, it was hard to be awake and it was hard to sleep.

He knew a lot about his grandparents - and perhaps he feels he's been endowed with abilities to go into people's heads who are long dead - but, to a certain extent, he's making it up.