I'm a novelist, so I can't write about ideas unless they're attached to people.

Do we tend to recall the most important parts of a novel or those that speak most directly to us, the truest lines or the flashiest ones?

This is what those who haven’t crossed the tropic of grief often fail to understand: the fact that someone is dead may mean that they are not alive, but doesn’t mean that they do not exist.

He didn’t really like travel, of course. He liked the idea of travel, and the memory of travel, but not travel itself.

Because love is the meeting point of truth and magic. Truth, as in photography; magic, as in ballooning.

Women were brought up to believe that men were the answer. They weren't. They weren't even one of the questions.

But life never lets you go, does it? You can't put down life the way you put down a book.