We're living longer, we social network alone with our screens, and our depth of feeling gets shallower. Soon it'll be nothing but a tide pool, then a thimble of water, then a micro drop.

Look at Picasso. O’Neill. Tennessee Williams. Capote. Were these shiny happy people spreading sunshine? No. Only the greatest of personal demons can force you to do powerful work.

…how monstrous the people you loved could be.

It was never the act itself but our own understanding of it that defeated us, over and over again.

It's funny how the night that changes your life forever starts out like all the others.

Making love to Aurelia was like rummaging through a card catalog in a deserted library, searching for one very obscure, little-read entry on Hungarian poetry.

Within every elaborate lie, a kernel of truth.