The gardener had a dread of small women; he'd always imagined them to have an anger disproportionate to their size.

Human sexuality makes farcical our most serious intentions.

This was not of the nature of a Christlike lesson for Owen Meany to learn, as he lay in the manger, that someone you hate can give you a hard-on.

It is amazing to me, now, how such wild imaginings and philosophies - inspired by a night charged with frights and calamities - made such perfectly good sense to Owen Meany and me, but good friends are nothing to each other if they are not supportive.

The building of the architecture of a novel - the craft of it - is something I never tire of.

I'm not proselytizing my method. I don't believe that one writer should tell other writers how to write.

I don't want you to describe to me—not ever—what you were doing to that poor boy to make him sound like that; but if you ever do it again, please cover his mouth with your hand.