Perhaps its not the world that is soundless but we who are deaf.

I hate to tell you this, but you will never actually go to a galaxy far, far away and encounter Darth Vader. That's science fiction; it isn't going to happen.

I think the book you always like best is the one you're about to write.

Happiness is a garden walled with glass: there's no way in or out.

But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life.

Foreignness is all around. Only in the heart of the heart of the country, namely the heart of the United States, can you avoid such a thing. In the center of an empire, you can think of your experience as universal. Outside the empire or on the fringes of the empire, you cannot.

Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.