I'm certainly eclectic in my writing.

His life was two lives now: the life he would have and the life he would forever wonder about.

All we have is the story we tell. Everything we do, every decision we make, our strength, weakness, motivation, history, and character-what we believe-none of it is real; it's all part of the story we tell. But here's the thing: it's our goddamned story!

If a police officer arrests a mime, does he need to tell him he has the right to remain silent.

I'm a professional. So before I published any novels, I'd always been writing stories.

And because he felt like he might burst open and because he lacked the dexterity in English to say all that he was thinking--how in his estimation, the more you lived the more regret and longing you suffered, that life was a glorious catastrophe--Pasquale Tursi said, only, "Yes.

What business does memory have with time?