People might be surprised to know how much I throw away. For every page I publish, I throw 10 pages away.

Yet I will make you all love me and I will punish myself to spite your love.

Art is a means of memorialization of the past, a record of a rapidly vanishing world; a means of exorcising, at least temporarily, the ravages of homesickness. To speak of 'what is past, or passing or to come'-in the most meticulous language thereby to assure its permanence; to honor those we've loved and learned from and must outlive.

I am more or less reading all the time.

... such speculation is like staring into the hot white sun. you know the sun is there but you can't see a thing.

The innocence of such children doesn't answer our deepest questions about this vale of tears to which we are condemned, but it helps to dispel them. That is the secret to family life.

On the elusive gift of blending austerity of craft with elasticity of allure.