How often had that hydrant even been opened? Did you jet water through a car window, what, twice at best? Summer burned just a few afternoons long, in the end. As for flying, Dose never even glanced at the sky. Flying was a summer within a summer, a whim. So why think of it at all?

I don't want to indulge myself in the luxury of writing beautiful paragraphs just for the sake of making beautiful writing. That doesn't interest me. I want everything to be essential.

Apologies aren't something you want to get in the habit of practicing in the mirror

Writing is physical for me. I always have the sense that the words are coming out of my body, not just my mind.

Listen to me. I’m shy. I’m not stupid. I can’t meet people’s eyes. I don’t know if you understand what that’s like. There’s a whole world going on around me, I’m aware of that. It’s not because I don’t want to look at you, Lucinda. It’s that I don’t want to be seen.

I want to write books that can be read a hundred years from now, and readers wouldn't be bogged down by irrelevant details.

The world's large enough and interesting enough to take a different approach each time you sit down to write about it.