Fiction, I believed, was the transmutation of experiential dross into linguistic gold. Fiction meant taking up whatever the world had abandoned by the road and making something beautiful out of it.

I guess my life hasn’t always been happy, or easy, or exactly what I want. At a certain point, I just have to try not to think too much about certain things, or else they’ll break my heart.

I feel that working environmentalists are, in the main, happier than armchair environmentalists.

Twitter is unspeakably irritating. Twitter stands for everything I oppose.

Robin turned and looked straight into her. "What's life for?" "I don't know." "I don't either. But I don't think it's about winning.

I wanted all of her and resented other boys for wanting any part of her.

I hate that word dysfunction.