Novels attempt to render human experience; that's really all they are. They are meant to convey empathy for the character.

For me, creativity is essentially a spiritual experience, a conversation between my soul and me.

And when you get down to it, Lily, that is the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love but to persist in love.

I realize that I can be with someone, but on a deeper level I'm not available to them at all. I have attention deficit disorder of the soul.

It shocks me how I wish for...what is lost and cannot come back.

People can start out one way, and by the time life gets through with them they end up completely different.

How could I choose someone who would force me to give up my own small reach for meaning? I chose myself, and without consolation.