Just the act of sleeping beside someone you liked to be with. Maybe that was love.

I have never been much of a researcher

People like to warn you that by the time you reach the middle of your life, passion will begin to feel like a meal eaten long ago, which you remember with great tenderness.

The only option for a creative person was constant motion—a lifetime of busy whirligigging in a generally forward direction, until you couldn’t do it any longer.

But clearly life took people and shook them around until finally they were unrecognizable even to those who had once known them well. Still, there was power in once having known someone.

Books light the fire-whether it's a book that's already written, or an empty journal that needs to be filled in.

It seemed that everywhere you went, people quickly adapted to the way they had to live, and called it Life.