I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

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.

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

For every reader who dies today, a viewer is born, and we seem to be witnessing . . . the final tipping balance.

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.

Brooklyn was like Philadelphia made better by its proximity to Manhattan.