People die, but money never does.

Language tethers us to the world; without it we spin like atoms.

Getting to know someone else involves curiosity about where they have come from, who they are.

It seems to me that everything that happens to us is a disconcerting mix of choice and contingency.

I'm writing another novel and I know what I'm going to do after, which may be something more like this again, maybe some strange mixture of fiction and non-fiction.

History unravels; circumstances, following their natural inclination, prefer to remain ravelled.

We make choices but are constantly foiled by happenstance.