These things you did were like prayers; you did them and you hoped they would save you. And for the most part they did. Or something did; you could tell by the fact that you were still alive.

Time is not a thing that passes ... it's a sea on which you float.

In the evenings there's been thunder, a distant bumping and stumbling, like God on a sullen binge.

I read a piece by a guy out in Alberta that said Canadians are lazy because they're not patenting enough new inventions. I disagree. Canadians invent a lot of stuff. Actually patenting them is expensive.

The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read.

The object is very clear in the fight against racism; you have reasons why you're opposed to it. But when you're writing a novel, you don't want the reader to come out of it voting yes or no to some question. Life is more complicated than that.

You can't help what you feel, but you can help how you behave