I went away in my head, into a book. That was where I went whenever real life was too hard or too inflexible.

Chicago happened slowly, like a migraine. First they were driving through countryside, then, imperceptibly, the occasional town became a low suburban sprawl, and the sprawl became the city.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hands.

I think I would rather be a man than a god. We don’t need anyone to believe in us. We just keep going anyhow. It’s what we do.

I have always felt that violence was the last refuge of the incompetent, and empty threats the last sanctuary of the terminally inept.

Set your fantasies in the here and now and then, if challenged, claim to be writing Magical Realism.

I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful.