And it would be a spare life he would be certain to lead as a schoolteacher in some urban location. But he had a serenity that came with the choice of the life he wanted to live. And this serenity and certainty I have seen only among those who have the armour of books close by.

You're getting everyone's point of view at the same time, which for me, is the perfect state for a novel: a cubist state, the cubist novel.

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

Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again

There always should be something hanging unfinished before a scene ends so that there's a reason for going to the next scene.

He turns his back to the far shore and rows toward it. He can in this way travel away from, yet still see, his house....he feels he is riding a floating skeleton...Some birds in the almost-dark are flying as close to their reflections as possible.

For echo is the soul of the voice exciting itself in hollow places.