Even if I seemed to remember, I could not know. For just to remember something is not to know if it really happened. That is a primary fact of the inner life, the most difficult fact with which we must live.

In love there are two things - bodies and words.

This is my life now. Absurd, but unpredictable. Not absurd because unpredictable but unpredictable because absurd. If I have lost the meaning of my life, I might still find small treasured things among the spilled and pilfered trash.

All that matters in life is forging deep ties of love and family and friends. Writing and reading come later.

Strange: how when a light is extinguished, it's immediately as if it has never been. Darkness fills in again, complete.

It is only through disruptions and confusion that we grow, jarred out of ourselves by the collision of someone else's private world with our own.

No, the thing is, we all love storytelling, and as a writer you get to tell stories all the time.