We're living in a future that's weirder than anybody except possibly.

If someone comes in and says, "What are you doing," if I'm honest, the answer is, "I don't know. But I'm doing THIS, don't know why."

I'm a reluctant writer of non-fiction, in part because I don't really feel qualified.

Hollis thought he looked like William Burroughs, minus the bohemian substrate (or perhaps the methadone). Like someone who'd be invited quail shooting with the vice-president, though too careful to get himself shot.

I don't much live my life as if I was living in a Raymond Chandler novel, which is probably a good thing.

The designers [of the 1930s] were populists, you see; they were trying to give the public what it wanted. What the public wanted was the future.

She walked on, comforted by the surf, by the one perpetual moment of beach-time, the now-and-always of it.