They were still all beautiful and there was still enchantment and wonder, but she had crossed a line and now the fairy tale was green with corruption and evil.

And if there are no cars or planes, and if no one’s Uncle John is out in the wood lot west of town banging away at a quail or pheasant; if the only sound is the slow beat of your own heart, you can hear another sound, and that is the sound of life winding down to its cyclic close, waiting for the first winter snow to perform last rites.

Hemingway sucks. If I set out to write that way, it would have been been hollow and lifeless because it wasn't me.

You see something, then it clicks with something else, and it will make a story. But you never know when it's going to happen.

The essential and defining characteristic of childhood is not the effortless merging of dream and reality, but only alienation. There are no words for childhood's dark turns and exhalations. A wise child recognizes it and submits to the necessary consequences. A child who counts the cost is a child no longer.

I believe most people are essentially good. I know that I am. It's you I'm not entirely sure of.

Any statement beginning with the words 'In truth' is almost always a lie.