Every immigrant family, it seems, has someone who does not belong in the new country they have come to. It feels like permanent exile to that one brother or wife who cannot stand a silent fate in Boston or London or Melbourne. I’ve met many who remain haunted by the persistent ghost of an earlier place.

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

she had a laugh that hinted it had rolled around once or twice in the mud.

If any of you on your journeys see her-shout to me, whistle...he sang, and it became a habit for audiences to shout and whistle in response to those lines. There was nowhere he could hide in such a song that had all of its doors and windows open, so that he could walk out of it artlessly, the antiphonal responses blending with him as if he were no longer on stage.

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

It's a responsibility of the writer to get the reader out of the story somehow.

It doubles your perception, to write from the point of view of someone you're not.