What was our life like? I almost don't remember now. Though I remember it, the space of time it occupied. And I remember it fondly.

When you are sixteen you do not know what your parents know, or much of what they understand, and less of what's in their hearts. This can save you from becoming an adult too early, save your life from becoming only theirs lived over again--which is a loss. But to shield yourself--as I didn't do--seems to be an even greater error, since what's lost is the truth of your parents' life and what you should think about it, and beyond that, how you should estimate the world you are about to live in.

I get very involved in the internal logic of sentences.

Your life doesn't mean what you have or what you get. Its what your'e willing to give up.

I'm dyslexic. If you can reconcile yourself to not being able to burn through books, which you shouldn't any way, you can slow the whole process down. Then, because of my disability, there is more for me in imaginative literature than there is for other people.

Things happen when people are not where they belong, and the world moves forward and back by that principle.

With imagination, you can put something where nothing was.