“My novel is the rock to which I cling and I know nothing of what is taking place in the world.”

“You have this novel idea of the world, like it’s made up of ladder hunting and test taking and framed plaques, all of which mean nothing to your current position. I know enough to know that you are dumb enough to believe in your ability, and that my friend is why you are given the opportunities to rise.”

“He's seeing my soul, my fears, my fragility, my inability to deal with a world which i pretend to master, but about which I know nothing”

“Maybe you've tumbled a world for me. And I don't know what I can build in my world's place.”

“Writing my own novels in the '90s...I never imagined that in ten years, science and rationality would require explanation and defense in a world rocked and ruled by religious fervor. ”

“I am a sacrifice bound with cords to the horns of the world's rock altar, waiting for worms. I take a deep breath, I open my eyes. Looking, I see there are worms in the horns of the altar like live maggots in amber, there are shells of worms in the rock and moths flapping at my eyes. A wind from no place rises. A sense of the real exults me; the cords loosen: I walk on my way.”