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.

Fiction shows the external effects of internal conditions. Be aware of the tension between internal and external movement.

I'm always learning something. Learning never ends.

All this, all of this love we're talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I'm wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don't know anything, and I'm the first one to admit it.

When a reader finishes a wonderful story and lays it aside, he should have to pause for a minute and collect himself.

That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

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.