I have a horror of silence while I'm writing. It's like the universe is howling at me if I don't have it.

I want what we all want," said Carl. "To move certain parts of the interior of myself into the exterior world, to see if they can be embraced.

My heart and the elevator, a plummet inside a plummet.

I work on a laptop specifically so I can work in cafes and pretend I'm part of the human world.

I listen to music all the time. I write while listening to music. And I tell myself that the music nourishes the art forms that I do master and domesticate, and have authority over.

Teenage life - possibly adult life too is all about what you want and can’t have. And then about what you receive and misuse.

I just noticed recently that in one book after another I seem to find an excuse to find some character who, to put it idiotically simply, is allowed to talk crazy.