I do not know what I regret. I sit with my pen, and cannot find an end to that sentence.

I feel like it's important every once in a while to estrange ourselves from the familiar to remind ourselves of the potentialities of people, how many different ways there are of being.

Older teens tend to write to me and say, 'Thank you for not writing down to teenagers.'

We went to the moon to have fun, but the moon turned out to completely suck.

...for reading, once begun, quickly becomes home and circle and court and family, and indeed, without narrative, I felt exiled from my own country. By the transport of books, that which is most foreign becomes one's familiar walks and avenues; while that which is most familiar is removed to delightful strangeness; and unmoving, one travels infinite causeways, immobile and thus unfettered.

A lot of the drive to make narratives came from having to play by myself as a 5- or 6-year-old in the woods.

The sky was as blue as a stupid postcard, and the islands were as green as islands.