Life goes on, unmindful of beginning, end…crisis or catharsis, moving forward like a slow, dusty caravan of kochis (nomads).

[Flying kite with my friends] is one of the seminal memories of growing up for me.

Quiet is turning down the volume knob on life.

I see America has infused you with the optimism that has made her so great

about clichés. Avoid them like the plague.

I shook my head no. For minutes, neither of us spoke a word. It breathed between us, what he had said, the pain of a life suppressed, of happiness never to be.

I don't outline at all; I don't find it useful, and I don't like the way it boxes me in. I like the element of surprise and spontaneity, of letting the story find its own way.