I'm a very interior person. I love silence. I revel in it. I'm happy that way.

In short, I'm pretty suspicious of the idea that there's a real and true and authentic world, and then a bunch of false ones.

I had been thinking about rubber all along. Like as the novel's element, or base material. A lot of artists in the late '60s and early '70s worked with rubber and other forms that seemed like they connoted industrial detritus. Robert Morris, Eva Hesse.

I'm releasing myself from the responsibility of claiming to know when something is good and when it isn't.

I was very precocious when I was young. I went to college at 16, and I graduated at 20. I wanted to be a writer, but I was more interested in experience than in applying myself intellectually.

For me, truth cracks open in the places where things do not cohere. That's how life is.

The kids I knew growing up who worked on bikes all loved the smell of gas. It is the liquid agent for speed.