For months I heard whispers and though it had seemed that they were carried to me on the wind, they were really coming from inside my own head.
It’s hard to imagine him angry without them. It must be like watching a game show by yourself, how calling out the answers feels silly and pointless. What is fury without witnesses? Where’s the tension minus an audience to wonder what you’ll do next?
I wonder if they are the only three in the world: the man who is with you completely, the man who is with you but not with you, the man who will get as close to you as he can without ever becoming yours.
We all make mistakes, don’t we? But if you can’t forgive yourself, you’ll always be an exile in your own life.
Perhaps this is how you know you’re doing the thing you’re intended to: No matter how slow or how slight your progress, you never feel that it’s a waste of time.
There’s a lot that’s not explained about the universe. And psychic-ness is not stranger than that.
Probably I, like a lot of people, became a writer in imitation of or in homage to the books I enjoyed. When you’re so captivated by something, you think, could I do that? Hmm, let me try.
We have to make mistakes, its how we learn compassion for others.
I guess I consider myself at times to have intuition.
I feel like if you read something, and it makes you so curious about a topic that you then go read something else, that’s exciting.
I think that there’s some confusion in my own mind about what I believe.
If you’re a parent in 2013, you have to get your hands on this book. Wise, engrossing, and so real that I fear Senior has been spying inside my house, All Joy is a must-read for those of us whose lives have been enriched and derailed by having kids.
I actually liked the disolation of winter; it was the season when it was okay to be unhappy. If I were to ever kill myself, I thought it would be in the summer.
It’s never that hard for me to imagine what it must feel like to be someone else, whether it’s an American teenage girl or a Japanese octogenarian man.
Ironically, writing a novel is not a way to sort out your confusion.
But I never thought of who he wasn’t, I never had to explain or defend him to myself, I didn’t even care what we talked about.
I don’t really have special rituals, but I don’t try to write fiction unless I have a minimum of a few hours. For me, it takes a while to settle into a mode where I’m truly concentrating.
People who think my books are autobiographical, which they’re not, credit me with having a much better memory than I do. I do, however, have a powerful imagination.
There are a lot of things in the world that are a lot weirder than psychic abilities, that we accept as true.
I have this theory that the likeability question comes up so much more with female characters created by female authors than it does with male characters and male authors.