“That's what fiction is about, isn't it, the selective transforming of reality? The twisting of it to bring out its essence?”

“... and I knew what I wanted: I would settle in a hill station and write my novel. I had visions of myself at a table on a large veranda, my notes spread out in front of me next to a steaming cup of tea. Green hills heavy with mists would lie at my feet and the shrill cries of monkeys would fill my ears. The weather would be just tight, requiring a light sweater mornings and evenings, and something short-sleeved midday. Thus set up, pen in hand, for the sake of greater truth, I would turn Portugal into a fiction. That's what fiction is about, isn't it, the selective transforming the reality? The twisting of it to bring out its essence? What need did I have to go to Portugal?”

“It's not about perfect. It's about effort. And when you bring that effort every single day, that's where transformation happens. That's how change occurs.”

“That's what fiction is for. It's for getting at the truth when the truth isn't sufficient for the truth.”

“Fiction can be more real to the reader than reality itself because fiction is the essence of life”

“It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept.”