Each form has its pluses and its minuses.

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

Imagine a famine. Now imagine a piece of bread. Both of these things are real but you happen to be in the same room with only one of them. Put yourself into a different room, that’s what the mind is for.

I didn't want him to become gray and multi-dimensional and complicated like everyone else. Was every Heathcliff a Linton in disguise?

All I can hope for is a reconstruction: the way love feels is always only approximate.

Writing is alone, but I don't think it's lonely. Ask any writer if they feel lonely when they're writing their book, and I think they'll say no.

More powerful than God, more evil than the Devil; the poor have it, the rich lack it, and if you eat it you die?