A good novel is a good novel, pointe finale. And I think what I'm writing is exactly that.

What are you afraid of? I'm afraid of not recognizing Paradise.

Few things are better in the world than a room full of librarians. I consider them literary heroes. The keepers and defenders of the written word.

But there was no hiding from Conscience. Not in new homes and new cars. In travel. In meditation or frantic activity. In children, in good works. On tiptoes or bended knee. In a big career. Or a small cabin. It would find you. The past always did. Which was why... it was vital to be aware of actions in the present. Because the present became the past, and the past grew. And got up, and followed you. And found you... Who wouldn't be afraid of this?

Things are strongest where they're broken.

I had to learn compassion. Had to learn what it felt like to hate, and to forgive and to love and be loved. And to lose people close to me. Had to feel deep loneliness and sorrow. And then I could write.

Or - perhaps - I should just worry about my own behavior and let others be who they are.