I don’t know why it is that I have always been happier thinking of somewhere I have been or wanted to go, than where I am at the time. I find it difficult to be happy in the present.

I meet kids now who become novelists, poets, write for the theater and movies, who were simply inspired by what they saw during the Spoleto Festival.

My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.

Writing is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself.

A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.

Every athlete learns by theft and mimicry.

One can learn anything, anything at all, I thought, if provided by a gifted and passionate teacher.