The air was heavy with the smell of leather and dust, of old parchment and binding glue. It smelled of secrets.

That was another lesson I had learned perhaps too well: people meant pain.

“I will admit, I've never had a student offer himself up for a vicious beating in order to prove he's worth my time.” “This was nothing... Once I jumped off a roof.”

A tree doesn't make a thunderstorm, but any fool knows where lightning's going to strike.

Small facts lead to great knowing.

I am no poet. I do not love words for the sake of words. I love words for what they can accomplish. Similarly, I am no arithmetician. Numbers that speak only of numbers are of little interest to me.

Sometimes I go outside after a long stretch of writing and I'm surprised it's not raining. Or that it's daylight. Or that it's not the middle of winter. I don't know if that level of immersion is normal, but it's now I do things. I like it. It works well for me.