“...I was not prepared for the feel of the noodles in my mouth, or the purity of the taste. I had been in Japan for almost a month, but I had never experiences anything like this. The noodles quivered as if they were alive, and leapt into my mouth where they vibrated as if playing inaudible music.”

“I'm layering away: sauce, noodles, I belong to you, cheese, sauce, my heart is yours, noodles, cheese, I hear your soul in your music, cheese, cheese, CHEESE...”

“I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, one as hated as the other.”

“Today I ate my manuscript with the very spoon I used to write it with. My book was called “Chicken Noodle Soup for the Stomach.”
I wrote it with alphabet soup, and then edited it with a can of chicken noodle soup.”

“It often felt like God had merely let me into a foyer where I could hear others playing my note in another room, with no way to get to the music. And that's really what I wanted to do. I wanted to play my note. I wanted to do the thing that made me feel alive.”

“In fear I hurried this way and that. I had the taste of blood and chocolate in my mouth, the one as hateful as the other.”