If I had, say, a tall, amateur male lead living on the campus of a rural college (Six Years), the next book might feature a short, cop who lives in the heart of Manhattan (Missing You).

You bring your own weather to the picnic.

The ugliest truth, in the end, was still better than the prettiest of lies.

Only bad writers think they're good.

Hope can be the most wonderful thing in the world or it can crush your heart like an eggshell.

..."better to have loved and lost" bullshit. Don't show me paradise and then burn it down.

There are three things that make a person a writer: inspiration, perspiration and desperation.

Trust is like that. You can break it for a good reason. But it still remains broken.

This is the price you pay for having a great father. You get the wonder, the joy, the tender moments - and you get the tears at the end, too.

A novel is like a sausage. You might like the final taste but you don't want to see how it was made.

Sometimes the loudest cries for help are silent.

Dios mio, I think my brother lost his balls somewhere between here and Mexico. Or maybe Brittany has them zipped inside that fancy purse (of hers).

They probably think the sun won't come up unless you're there to allow it.

To die trying is the proudest humans thing.

A lot of men think that if they smile for a second, somebody will take advantage of them, and they are right.

Man's maturity: to have regained the seriousness that he had as a child at play.

The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance; the wise grows it under his feet.

North Americans have a peculiar bias. They go outside to be alone and they go home to be social.

Whenever you heal any relationship, your whole life improves - and that counts for double with family.

The universe is made of one kind of what-ever-it-is, which cannot be defined.

I burn with no causes.