Those who claim to write about something larger and more significant than the self sometimes fail to comprehend the dimensions of self.

Perhaps all anxiety might derive from a fixation on moments - an inability to accept life as ongoing.

The catalog of emotion that disappears when someone dies, and the degree to which we rely on a few people to record something of what life was to them, is almost too much to bear.

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.

My existence shrank from an arrow of light pointing into the future forever to a speck of light that was the present moment. I got better at living in that point of light, making the world into that point. I paid close attention to it. I loved it very much.

I don't write toward a genre, and I try not to make claim to a genre after a book is published. That said, The Guardians isn't poetry. It's prose.

I like people who possess either deep mastery or deep empathy, but not as much as I like those who possess both.