All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel. ...Think about it. There's escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist.

The road to death is a lonely highway, and longer than it apears, even when it leads straight down from the scaffold, by way of a rope; and it's a dark road, with never any moon shining on it, to light your way.

I always thought eating was a ridiculous activity anyway. I'd get out of it myself if I could, though you've got to do it to stay alive, they tell me.

I was sand, I was snow—written on, rewritten, smoothed over.

To take that risk, to offer life and remain alive, open yourself like this and become whole.

The threat to the planet is us. It's actually not a threat to the planet - it's a threat to us.

You need a certain amount of nerve to be a writer, an almost physical nerve, the kind you need to walk a log across a river.