It's hard for me to think of writing a novel, because it takes so long.

For me, the past is dead. Can't go back.

Personally, I've never had it as a goal in life to be happy. Seems impossible to achieve. Even the Declaration of Independence seems to acknowledge this. They talk about the pursuit of happiness, not happiness itself.

There's no shortage of material in life.

There are so many talented young writers named Jonathan, with whom by comparison I suffer terribly.

I live for coincidences. They briefly give to me the illusion or the hope that there's a pattern to my life, and if there's a pattern, then maybe I'm moving toward some kind of destiny where it's all explained.

It's hard to leave New York: this is where my friends are, my parents are. It is so vital. The whole world seems to look to New York.