It's doubtful that anyone with an internet connection at his workplace is writing good fiction.

I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

I find it a huge strain to be responsible for my tastes and be known and defined by them.

I feel as if I'm clearly part of a trend among writers who take themselves seriously - and I confess to taking myself as seriously as the next writer.

The problem with making a virtual world of oneself is akin to the problem with projecting ourselves onto a cyberworld: there’s no end of virtual spaces in which to seek stimulation, but their very endlessness, the perpetual stimulation without satisfaction, becomes imprisoning.

Imagine that human existence is defined by an Ache: the Ache of our not being, each of us, the center of the universe; of our desires forever outnumbering our means of satisfying them.

she was so much a personality and so little anything else that even staring straight at her he had no idea what she really looked like.