And none of these people, not one of them, had loved any of the others well enough. Failures, he thought, we're all failures... He wanted his love to be the wine and bread, and the blood and flesh. He reached for her, a dangerous stranger in a city of dangerous strangers, but she turned away from him and walked unsteadily through the crowd. How many loveless people walk among the barely loved?

We are taught to take the bread into our bodies as proof of Jesus's body.

Is revenge a circle inside of a circle inside of a circle?

There's this whole notion of being an Indian - the idea that "warrior" is a positive description of us [Indians as native Americans]. When an Indian guy does well, he's a warrior, even now. He could be a computer salesman, but if he does well, he's a warrior. I'm not a pacifist by any measure, but I'm also fully aware that the reasons I might go to war could be very dubious.

I thought I’d been condescended to as an Indian - that was nothing compared to the condescension for writing Y.A.

Because I'm an American, I know there's all sorts of international folks who would gladly kidnap and behead me.

She wanted to be buried in a coffin filled with used paperbacks.