I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

All of us, all of us, all of us trying to save our immortal souls, some ways seemingly more round about and mysterious than others. We are having a good time here. But hope all will be revealed soon.

There's literary creation and literary business. When I first got something accepted, it gave my life a validation it didn't otherwise have.

Isak Dinesen said that she wrote a little every day, without hope and without despair. I like that.

There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me.

What do any of us really know about love?

You're a beautiful drunk, daughter. But you're a drunk.