The reason they invented coffins, to lock the dead in, preserve them, they put makeup on them; they didn't want them spreading or changing into anything else. The stone with the name and date was on them to weight them down.

It used to be that your bloodlines dictated who you were. But the U.S. became the land of the self-made man, in which not only did you make a fortune but you could make up everything else about yourself as well. You move into a new town with a spurious pedigreed background and you just make yourself up.

A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness.

I never say I'm an "ist" of any kind unless I know how the other person is defining it.

I write as if I've lived a lot of things I haven't lived.

All you have to do, I tell myself, is keep your mouth shut and look stupid. It shouldn't be that hard.

I did not know how to paint or even what to paint, but I knew I had to begin.