We are bound by the secrets we share.

It seems to me that my lack of faith is not, as I once thought, a triumph of the rational mind, but rather a failure of the imagination - an inability to tolerate mistery.

When I tried to do something else, everyone behaved as if I was Gypsy Rose Lee trying to paint a Matisse.

There are certain people in whom you can detect the seeds of madness - seeds that have remained dormant only because the people in question have lived relatively comfortable, middle class lives. They function perfectly well in the world, but you can imagine, given a nasty parent, or a prolonged bout of unemployment, how their potential for craziness might have been realized.

I don't write books for people to be friends with the characters. If you want to find friends, go to a cocktail party.

It's hard to resist the magical thinking that the work habits of great writers are the key to their greatness.

Somewhere between sanity and madness lays a fine line, for some it is a tightrope walked daily, a fight for balance to be won or lost. That fight is lost one of two ways. Some simply lose their balance and fall, others are pushed.