It is the most horrific thought—my husband died among strangers.

Hospital vigils inspire us to such nostalgia. Hospital vigils take place in slow-time during which the mind floats free, a frail balloon drifting into the sky as into infinity.

That I was sleeping at a time when my husband was dying is so horrible a thought, I can’t confront it.

She will speculate that she didn’t fully know her husband—this will give her leverage to seek him, to come to know him. It will keep her husband “alive” in her memory—elusive, teasing.

How exhausted I am suddenly!—though this has been Ray’s best day in the hospital so far, and we are feeling—almost—exhilarated.

The coolly calibrated manipulation of the credulous American public, by an administration bent upon stoking paranoid patriotism!

The gardener is the quintessential optimist: not only does he believe that the future will bear out the fruits of his efforts, he believes in the future.

For writing is a solitary occupation, and one of its hazards is loneliness. But an advantage of loneliness is privacy, autonomy, freedom.

It is utterly naive, futile, uninformed—to think that our species is exceptional. So designated to master the beasts of the Earth, as in the Book of Genesis!

Life should be used to fulfill the purposes of the Kingdom

Looking back, I am thankful that I didn't go into the film industry.

No outdoor sports can be more elegant than throwing stones at autocracy; no melees can be more exciting than those in cyberspace.

Kid, you'll move mountains.

'Six Feet Under' was so much about life. Sure, it had a lot to do with death, but that's the fun - that now I became a dead person.

Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it's so hurtful to think about writing.

You have to believe what you say, and if you believe what you are saying, then acting is easy.

Twenty years and $40 billion. They seem like good round numbers.

Most workouts are way too aggressive. Thousands of lunges wear out the body. It's not healthy for the one with the bad back, bad knees, diabetes. I'm never going to do that.

All the speed he took, all the turns he'd taken and the corners he'd cut in Night City, and still he'd see the matrix in his sleep, bright lattices of logic unfolding across that colorless void.