I don't think there's a shortage of material in the world. Or in my head. I just pray for continued good health, because I've got other stories to tell.

Ultimately, your theme will find you. You don't have to go looking for it.

The world is divided between kids who grow up wanting to be their parents and those like us, who grow up wanting to be anything but. Neither group ever succeeds.

When you don't know what to do, try something; if that doesn't work, try something else.

Movies have to handle time very efficiently. They're about stringing scenes together in the present. Novels aren't necessarily about that.

People who imagine themselves to be self-made seldom enjoy examining the process of manufacture in detail.

The line of gray along the horizon is brighter now, and with the coming light I feel a certainty: that there is, despite our wild imaginings, only one life. The ghostly others, no matter how real they seem, no matter how badly we need them, are phantoms. The one life we're left with is sufficient to fill and refill our imperfect hearts with joy, and then to shatter them. And it never, ever lets up.