Then she had been a fiancee, a young wife, and a mother, and she had discovered that these words were far too small ever to contain the experience.

It's good to be in love.

Writing is always a process of discovery—I never know the end, or even the events on the next page, until they happen. There’s a constant interplay between the imagining and shaping of the story.

...bleak territory of the heart.

Her voice, high and clear, moved through the leaves, through the sunlight. It splashed onto the gravel, the grass. He imagined the notes falling into the air like stones into water, rippling the invisible surface of the world. Waves of sound, waves of light: his father had tried to pin everything down, but the world was fluid and could not be contained.

Photography is all about secrets... The secrets we all have and will never tell.

There was something not quite right about her eagerness, an eerie kind of voyeurism in her need for bad news.