A novel is a conversation between a reader and a writer.

Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

...And in freedom, most people find sin.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

A taste so profound and complex that it can't even be compared to other tastes, only to emotions. Cheesy waffles, I was thinking, tastes like love without the fear of love's dissolution.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.

The path of light is the quest for knowledge.

Lately I have come to believe that the principle difference between Heaven and Hell is the company you keep there....

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

What was it about that short creature with her wild hair and spurious air of purity and why would anyone much less two men love her and to such disastrous ends.

But the most important thing I know is that I want the possibility of you more than the reality of [her].

In choosing Paul Ryan, Mitt Romney made a fantastic choice and a bold statement to the American people.

Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.

Sometimes I got worried that my memory was falling apart.

I like army boots, I like peasant skirts - sometimes together! So I do know that I have odd taste.

Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.