The American dream itself is declining.

It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us...on the inside, looking out.

Because it was starting to get dark, and because the streets were crowded, I bumped into a googolplex people. Who were they? Where were they going? What were they looking for? I wanted to hear their heartbeats, and I wanted them to hear mine.

If the thrill of hunting were in the hunt, or even in the marksmanship, a camera would do just as well.

There's nothing wrong with not understanding yourself.

My test for writing is always, is this fun or does it feel like a job? Is it moving me? Or am I just fulfilling my own expectations - or even worse, somebody else's?

We spent our lives making livings.