It's a little place on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no memory.

I think a lot of times dreams are nothing more than a kind of mental or spiritual flatulence. They're a way of relieving pressure.

Did-a-chick? Dum-a-chum? Dad-a-cham? Ded-a-chek?

You might question a winkle - a feeling that came to you right out of the blue - but you didn’t question knowing.

I've spoken out my whole life against the idea of simply dismissing whole areas of fiction by saying it's "genre" and therefore can't be seen as literature.

I know your mother lives in your head - almost everyone's mother does, I guess - but you can't let her have her way on this one

Outside, daylight was bleeding slowly toward dusk.