I do not enjoy the promotional side of being a writer, to be blunt about it. Even with the little amount that is expected of me, which is nothing compared to the life of an artist. Writers can live in obscurity and come out of the woodwork with a book, then go back in. Artists don’t have that luxury.

People are complicated. Personally I don't go in for puritanical people.

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 guess I'm not really fond of just chit-chatting. I want to learn something and have an experience.

My mother told me many stories about her childhood in Cuba. Living there had a profound impact on her and how she regards herself.

I don't quite see the 20th century as one of chaos. But I believe in certain inevitable outcomes of a materialist nature.

The desire for love is universal but that has never meant it’s worthy of respect. It’s not admirable to want love, it just is.