There is a story, always ahead of you. Barely existing. Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it. You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character. You will find in this way the path of your life.

She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.

He walked out of the hospital into the sun, into open air for the first time in months, out of the green-lit rooms that lay like glass in his mind. He stood there breathing everything in, the hurry of everyone. First, he thought, I need shoes with rubber on the bottom. I need gelato.

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

Could you fall in love with her if she wasn't smarter than you? I mean, she may not be smarter than you. But isn't it important for you to think she is smarter than you in order to fall in love? Think now.

I tend not to know what the plot is or the story is or even the theme. Those things come later, for me.

I have to teach myself not to read too much into everything. It comes from too long having to read into hardly anything at all.