The only thing I've consistently been interested in in the last twenty-five years is writing very short texts. That continues to interest me as a project, to contain some part of reality, which is chaotic by definition, in a contained space. I like small apartments. I like getting rid of stuff. I went through my files yesterday and spent hours shredding things. It was great.

Around you move many seas. It is impossible not to drown a little.

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.

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

This is suffering's lesson: pay attention. The important part might come in a form you do not recognize.

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

Time punishes us by taking everything, but it also saves us - by taking everything