“I don't think the real America is in New York or on the Pacific Coast; personally, I like the Middle West much better, places like North and South Dakota, Minneapolis and Saint Paul. There, I think, are the true Americans”

“You’re American, yes?” Daniela said.“Yes.”“New York?”“Oregon.”“Dónde?” Where?“It’s a state on the West Coast.”“Near Los Angeles?” Brigitte asked.“North of there. Just south of Canada.”All three sighed, “Ah.”“You’re from the ends of the earth,” Amalia said, a teasing smile on her lips.“Not quite that far!”“Almost!” Brigitte said.”

“I knew I couldn't live in America and I wasn't ready to move to Europe so I moved to an island off the coast of America - New York City .”

“Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east...”

“I'm drawn to write about upstate New York in the way in which a dreamer might have recurring dreams. My childhood and girlhood were spent in upstate New York, in the country north of Buffalo and West of Rochester. So this part of New York state is very familiar to me and, with its economic difficulties, has become emblematic of much of American life.”

“For me, the badlands are entirely too naughty. The whole time I was in South Dakota I felt like I needed a spanking.”