“I have decided that maybe I want to write when I grow up. I just don't know what I would write.”

“I'd love to write some porn, but I don't know if I have the right engines. When I was a young man and I was tempted to write porn, imaginary parents would appear over my shoulder and read what I was writing; just about the point that I managed to banish the imaginary parents, real children would lean over my shoulder and read what I was writing.”

“Is it crazy to say that I sometimes don't understand what I write but I write it anyway, because maybe someone, somewhere, somehow, would feel what I didn't?”

“I don't want to analyze myself or anything, but I think, in fact I know this to be true, that I enter the world through what I write. I grew up believing, and continue to believe, that I am a screw-up, that growing up with my family and friends, I had nothing to offer in any conversation. But when I started writing, suddenly there was something that I brought to the party that was at a high-enough level.”

“I write what I feel, fiction with a twist of truth. I don't write because I want to, I write because I have to.”

“I only write when I'm angry or sad, so because that's when I just have to write... If I'm having a good time and I'm happy and things are going really well, why would I want to stop what I'm doing to go and write at the piano?”