Jung was absolutely right about one thing. We are occupied by gods. The mistake is to identify with the god occupying you.

Most of the time in our world, truth is just opinion.

A love story is not about those who lost their heart but about those who find that sullen inhabitant who, when it is stumbled upon, means the body can fool no one, can fool nothing—not the wisdom of sleep or the habit of social graces. It is a consuming of oneself and the past.

The past is still, for us, a place that is not safely settled.

The trouble with all of us is we are where we shouldn't be.

Some people you just had to embrace, in some way or another, had to bite into the muscle, to remain sane in their company. You needed to grab their hair and clutch it like a drowner so they would pull you into their midst. Otherwise they, walking casually down the street towards you, almost about to wave, would leap over a wall and be gone for months.

There's a lot of thievery involved in writing. You're breaking into other people's spaces and other people's stories.