I wrote to explain my own life to myself, stories are the vessels I use to interpret the world to myself.

My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.

We set down feasts for each other and treated our love with tongues of fire. Our bodies were fields of wonder to us.

Know this. I think you could be special if you only thought there was anything special about yourself.

Here is all I ask of a book- give me everything. Everything, and don't leave out a single word.

I realized early that unless you're willing to kill the innocent, you can't win.

Books are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence. You touch them as they quiver with a divine pleasure. You read them and they fall asleep to happy dreams for the next 10 years. If you do them the favor of understanding them, of taking in their portions of grief and wisdom, then they settle down in contented residence in your heart.