The people I know who would support [Donald] Trump are keeping their mouths shut.

Instead of lowering your head and copping to it like a man, you pick up the journal as one might hold a bady's beshattered diaper, as one might pinch a recently benutted condom. You glance at the offending passages. Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel. This is how you lose her.

You're Dominican only if you do this, this, and that. And if you do this and that, you'll be accepted to a certain degree and if you don't, people will scorn you for it.

That’s life for you. All the happiness you gather to yourself, it will sweep away like it’s nothing. If you ask me I don’t think there are any such things as curses. I think there is only life. That’s enough.

Love was a rare thing, easily confused with a million other things, and if anybody knew this to be true it was him.

We can speculate. Last time I checked, the future doesn't take my advice.

I think that if you're writing about the human condition, my God, you've got to start at base: point zero, point one, is the body.