“Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky.Moon-fingers lay down their same routineOn the side deck and the threshold, the white keys and the black keys.Bird hush and bird song. A cassia flower falls.I want to be bruised by God.I want to be strung up in a strong light and singled out.I want to be stretched, like music wrung from a dropped seed.I want to be entered and picked clean.And the wind says “What?” to me.And the castor beans, with their little earrings of death, say “What?” to me.And the stars start out on their cold slide through the dark.And the gears notch and the engines wheel.”

“A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with 'Got To Get You Off My Mind', but then realised that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straight away, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs, and ... oh there are loads of rules.”

“What I have to say is all in the music. If I want to say anything, I write a song.”

“When he sees me, he stops.His eyes widen, his face pales.And then before i can say anything, he's holding me.And the worst part is-I want to hold him.But I also want to slap him, hit him. Punch him. Tear out his throat.I want him to tell me what he did to me was a mistake. Some horrible mix-up. . .after I'm done holding him back.”

“I let myself feel good for no reason. I let joy happen right there and then, and it's inside me and around me, it's the lights on the road ahead, the clean black of the night, the cold air coming through the window. It's like hearing a song for the first time and being struck by it, haunted by it, wanting to hunt it down and catch it, because the song sums up something you didn't know you wanted to say, giving you chills and goose bumps. But even as you find out what it's called, and you're thinking you'll download it, you've already lost. Because the feeling was right then and there and it's already fading like a dream.You just have to see those times for what they are: a chance to look down at your life. And when you do, you see it's a skin made up of shiny little moments.”

“Before one knows it, he's nearly through with the book and then must continue so as to 'find out what happens at the end.' These are the sort of book of which publishers say 'Once you pick it up, you can't put it down,'and one of the major reasons you don't want to put it down is that you don't ever want to pick it up again.”