I disagree that Blood Will Out is a memoir in the conventional sense. It's the story of a relationship, primarily, not an individual. The "me" in the book is a specialized version of me, the person who Clark manipulated and fooled. I could cover the same years of my life from an entirely different perspective in another book, by concentrating on my experience as a husband, say. But I was selective. I focused on my duping.

The most beautiful faces have some ugly in them.

Other people's devotions embarrassed me, perhaps because, like other people's kisses, they rarely looked genuine when viewed too closely.

The strange anthropological lesson of social media is that human beings, if given a choice, often prefer to socialise alone.

I still believe in love. I always will. It's my blessing and my burden.

Reason leavened with a little wit (if possible) is the real alternative to hate speech, meaning that there's no better time for it.

A writer has a use for his experiences that most civilians simply don't; he or she discerns material in situations that others simply live through. Perhaps there are some who disapprove of this, but without this double consciousness, literature would not get made at all.