“Death steals everything except our stories.”

“Sometimes the only answer to death is lunch.”

“His own life suddenly seemed repellently formal. Whom did he know or what did he know and whom did he love? Sitting on the stump under the burden of his father's death and even the mortality inherent in the dying, wildly colored canopy of leaves, he somehow understood that life was only what one did every day.... Nothing was like anything else, including himself, and everything was changing all of the time. He knew he couldn't perceive the change because he was changing too, along with everything else.(from the novella, The Man Who Gave Up His Name)”

“A poet must discover that it’s his own story that is true, even if the truth is small indeed.”

“Trying to teach creativity is the major hoax of our time along with the Iraq war and plastic surgery.”

“It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.”

“I like grit, I like love and death, I'm tired of irony. ... A lot of good fiction is sentimental. ... The novelist who refuses sentiment refuses the full spectrum of human behavior, and then he just dries up. ... I would rather give full vent to all human loves and disappointments, and take a chance on being corny, than die a smartass.”