To the resentment that hides inside love, to the loneliness that hides among companions.

I guess they needed a maze in Japan, where everything's neat and tidy. In America everybody's already wandering around lost.

In the sea of words, the in print is foam, surf bubbles riding the top. And it's a dark sea, and deep, where divers need lights on their helmets and would perish at the lower depths.

When the civil rights battle was won, all the Jews and hippies and artists were middle class white people and all the blacks were still poor. Materially, not much changed.

It's now expected of me that I will defy expectation, so I really generally seem to be free to write what I want.

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

I had always wanted to be a writer who confused genre boundaries and who was read in multiple contexts.