Sometimes death is proof of life. Sometimes decay points out a certain verve.

How much sweeter life would be if it all happened in reverse, if, after decades of disappointments, you finally arrived at an age when you had conceded nothing, when everything was possible.

I first started writing fiction in college because I was attracted to beautiful sentences. I loved to read them. I wanted to write them.

Fear is ... a kind of unintentional storytelling that we are all born knowing how to do.

Just like all great stories, our fears focus our attention on a question that is as important in life as it is in literature: What will happen next?

But the past is long, and the future is short.

It requires a certain kind of bravery, I suppose, to choose the status quo. There's a certain boldness to inaction.

We were a different kind of Christian, the quiet, reasonable kind, a breed embarrassed by the mention of miracles.

I can write all the way through the morning, when my mind is clear, and there are no distractions.

To some degree we all live with uncertainty. We have no control over the future. Yet we carry on, we persevere, because, I guess, it's the way we're made.

My goal was just to tell the unlikely story in a way that would feel as convincing as possible.

Playmates share two gifts. You are loveable, and there is nothing to be afraid of.

Maybe that's what love is-counting the bandages until someone says, 'Enough'.

Everything is getting bigger. The way to go now is to program in a little more sophistication.

May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect.

The tragedian will always be a limited tragedian if he has not learned how to laugh. The comedian who cannot weep will never touch the highest levels of mirth.

I hate libraries for the way they put stickers on things. I don't approve of folding over pages, or of writing in books. God, forget scissors - that's beyond the pale.

I am enjoying my face changing, as well as realizing that at the same time, as you get older, the machine isn't as well-oiled as it was.

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?

The world is not a problem; the problem is your unawareness.

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