Isolation, you know, carries the seeds of its own destruction because as times change, other things seep in.

When a man angers you, he conquers you.

You rely on a sentence to say more than the denotation and the connotation; you revel in the smoke that the words send up.

No one ever talks about the moment you found that you were white. Or the moment you found out you were black. That's a profound revelation. The minute you find that out, something happens. You have to renegotiate everything.

Deep, deep trouble. Can't rival the dead for love. Lose every time.

For me, Art is the restoration of order. It may discuss all sort of terrible things, but there must be satisfaction at the end. A little bit of hunger, but also satisfaction.

I don't think I knew any of my father's friends - male friends - by their real names. I remember them only by their nicknames.