The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor.

Sooner or later everything you thought you'd left behind comes around again. For good or ill, it comes around again.

He didn’t know if that was really true or not, but he discovered something which was tremendously liberating: he didn’t care. He was very tired of thinking and thinking and still not knowing. He was also tired of being frightened, like a man who has entered a cave on a lark and now begins to suspect he is lost. Stop thinking about it, then. That’s the solution.

The quiet, singing voice of the rose. The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.

It's the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of the shore; it's also the pool where some hardy souls go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones. It is the pool of life, the cup of imagination, and she has an idea that different people see different versions of it, but with two things ever in common: it's always about a mile deep in the Fairy Forest, and it's always sad. Because imagination isn't the only thing this place is about.

The idea that America exists in a culture of violence is bullshit. What America exists in is a culture of Kardashian.

Writers write. That's all it is. It is as simple, and as complex, as that.