Hemingway said the only way to write about a place is to leave it.

When it comes time to sit down and write the next book, you're deathly afraid that you're not up to the task. That was certainly the case with me after Snow Falling on Cedars.

The status quo was rote memorization and recitation in classrooms thronged with passive children who were sternly disciplined when they expressed individual needs.

My father is a practicing criminal law attorney in the Seattle area.

At one level you're condemned to the voice you have. But within those confines, you have a certain amount of freedom to range among your possible voices.

There are things in this universe that we cannot control, and then there are the things we can. . . . Let fate, coincidence, and accident conspire; human beings must act on reason.

What some people interpret as brooding melancholy is serenity. I don't feel required to grasp all the time.

accident ruled every corner of the universe except the chambers of the human heart.

There's a certain nostalgia and romance in a place you left.

It's a brooding melancholy that haunts me.

I'm interested in themes that endure from generation to generation.

I love the recklessness of faith. First you leap, and then you grow wings.

If I start giving people what they like I'll turn into one of them and I don't want to be one of them I want to be one of me.

I'll keep singing 'till I die.

It's important to know that words don't move mountains. Work, exacting work moves mountains.

I love photography. I like to write. I like coaching. I've made jewelry. I'm very creative.

You have now reached infatuation’s final destination—the complete and merciless devaluation of self.

Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.

When all is lost, when all is let go of, when all is abandoned, what you are left with is an ocean of bliss.

I always wanted to be a great actor.

The friends who met here and embraced are gone, Each to his own mistake.