My father's body lies in a stone tomb high on a hill. People walk by, pause, think their own thoughts about him and move on, back to their own lives. I can never move on. He is everywhere.

I think we can work through a lot of political and international problems, but what really frightens me is what's happening environmentally.

And as far as false hope, there is no such thing. There is only hope or the absence of hope - nothing else.

The most ethical way to deal with an unethical situation would be to simply say: 'We did something wrong.' But nobody in a family like mine would ever respond like this.

it ultimately doesn't matter which disease gnaws away at the body - it looks the same. The flesh surrenders, grows exhausted, and the eyes ask why.

I'm very comfortable writing in the first person; it dives into the character in a way that's difficult if you're writing in the third person.

I had this odd sibling rivalry with America.