“If I don't write it, who will? No one; at least not the way I would because the idea is uniquely mine.”

“Mine," he said.Adam's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so. She is mine."It would have been flattering, I thought, except that at least one of them was talking about dinner and I wasn't certain about the other.”

“At last I understood that the way over, or through this dilemma, the unease at writing about 'petty personal problems' was to recognize that nothing is personal, in the sense that it is uniquely one's own. Writing about oneself, one is writing about others, since your problems, pains, pleasures, emotions—and your extraordinary and remarkable ideas—can't be yours alone. [...] Growing up is after all only the understanding that one's unique and incredible experience is what everyone shares.”

“...But what is it all about, what am I trying to do, is there a message? Nobody knows, and I certainly don't. If one could answer these questions in any other way than by writing what one has written, then there would be no point in writing at all.”

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