Dreaming is another form of thinking, more concrete, more economical, more visual, and often more emotional than the thoughts of the day, but a thinking through of the day, nevertheless.

Whenever I sign books, I get this line over and over again from men: "I don't read fiction, but my wife does. Would you sign the book to her?" What are those men doing there? And where are their wives?

Dreams are stories made by and for the dreamer, and each dreamer has his own folds to open and knots to untie.

I remember thinking how easy it is to speak in clichés, to steal a line from pulp fiction and let it fall. We can only hover around the inexpressible with our words anyway, and there is comfort in saying what we have heard before.

Reading is perception as translation. The inert signs of an alphabet become living meanings in the mind.

Human beings are repetitive animals. All meaning is generated through repetition.

We lose ourselves in stories; that's the beauty of literary art.