At nineteen, it seems to me, one has a right to be arrogant; time has usually not begun its stealthy and rotten subtractions. It takes away your hair and your jump-shot, according to a popular country song, but in truth it takes away a lot more than that.

I’ve always said to people, "I don’t care what you call me as long as the checks don’t bounce and the family gets fed." But I never saw myself that way. I just saw myself as a novelist.

The bad ideas kind of just drop out of the mix. You forget about them. The good ones stick around.

Wow. This makes grand central look like a bus stop in Buttfuck Nebraska.

Has it ever occurred to you that parents are nothing but overgrown kids until their children drag them into adulthood? Usually kicking and screaming?

Animals don't know as much about jealousy as people, but they're not ignorant of it, either.

It's hard for me to believe that people who read very little (or not at all in some cases) should presume to write and expect people to like what they have written.