Everything necessary to understand my grandfather lies between two stories: the story of the tiger’s wife, and the story of the deathless man. These stories run like secret rivers through all the other stories of his life – of my grandfather’s days in the army; his great love for my grandmother; the years he spent as a surgeon and a tyrant of the University. One, which I learned after his death, is the story of how my grandfather became a man; the other, which he told to me, is of how he became a child again.

When you're in a place, the details you focus on are different than details you focus on when you're writing about it.

I think the mythology of death really ran away with me when I was very young.

We're all entitled to our superstitions.

Wash the bones, bring the body, leave the heart behind.

Come on, is your heart a sponge or a fist?

My mother always says that fear and pain are immediate, and that, when they're gone we're left with the concept, but not the true memory.