You don't know. When I'm out there at night I feel close to my own body, I can feel my blood moving, my skin and fingernails, everything, it's like I'm full of electricity and I'm glowing in the dark - I'm on fire almost - I'm burning away into nothing - but it doesn't matter because I know exactly who I am.

Everything was such a damned nice idea when it was an idea.

Even then, at nine years old, I wanted to live inside her body. I wanted to melt into her bones - THAT kind of love.

I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.

Writing doesn’t get easier with experience. The more you know, the harder it is to write.

Once you're alive, you can't ever be dead.

Each of us, I suppose needs his illusions. Life after death. A maker of planets. A woman to love, a man to hate. Something sacred. But what a waste.