In 25 years of writing novels, I've never had anything that felt like writer's block.

The desire to live in our imagination is driven by this suspicion that we're disembodied sensibilities cobbled into our bodies. That idea has infused most of human thought since the very beginning.

Until I was 42, I could fit everything that I owned into two suitcases.

Everything interests me.

Maybe happiness is like a virus. Maybe it's one of those bugs that sits for a long time, so we don't even know that we are infected.

All the different ways we know the world all come from the brain, and they all depend on each other to make sense.

The web: yet another total disorientation that becomes status quo without anyone realizing it.