Everything he did was at least partial and often total bullshit” (402).

You could slap his wrist for saying it, but then he said it with his face, and you could spank him for making faces, but then he said it with his eyes, and there were limits to correction-no way, in the end, to penetrate behind the blue irises and eradicate a boy's disgust.

So, what, you got cigarette burns, too?" Gitanes said. Chip showed his palm, "It's nothing." "Self-inflicted. You pathetic American." "Different kind of prison" Chip said.

Once there are good sentences on the page, I can feel a loyalty to them and start following their logic, and take refuge from myself.

I think the mission for the writer is to tell stories in a compelling way about the stuff that cannot be talked about, that cannot be gotten at with shallow media.

If you want to have friends, you have to remember that nobody's perfect.

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