“I write the right stuff about the wrong people”

“I write what I want to read. If I were to write what I know, I'd be staring at a blank page forever.”

“Do people look the same when they go to heaven, mommy?""I don't know. I don't think so.""Then how do people recognize each other?""I don't know, sweetie. They just feel it. You don't need your eyes to love, right?”

“I think we're too young to be dating. I mean I don't see what the rush is." Summer says. "Yeah, I agree," said August. "Which is kind of a shame, you know what with all those babes who keep throwing themselves at me and stuff?”

“Some of us, I imagine, write out of anger; some out of pain; some write out of prejudice or loss, some out of passion, the promise of something better, perhaps the belief that—even now—a book can be capable of changing a life. Some of us write to remember, some to forget; some to change things, some to ensure things stay the same. Some of us—as my editor and agent will all too easily testify—write because we cannot stop.”

“When I was young and bold and strong,The right was right, the wrong was wrong.With plume on high and flag unfurled,I rode away to right the world.But now I’m old - and good and bad,Are woven in a crazy plaid.I sit and say the world is so,And wise is s/he who lets it go.”

“I'll think about something else. I'll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still, maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don't they know it isn't true? Don't they know it's a lie, it's a God-damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts?”