All the lives I could live, all the people I will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is all that the world is.

Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there.

Your nightmares follow you like a shadow, forever.

There are moments in life when it is all turned inside out--what is real becomes unreal, what is unreal becomes tangible, and all your levelheaded efforts to keep a tight ontological control are rendered silly and indulgent.

I really don't feel that any of the pieces I wrote were confessions; there are no revelations about secrets in my life, and actually I have nothing to confess and I certainly do not ask for redemption and there is no reward for confessing that I expect.

I'll take any life in which I can make choices and have agency, and America is not a bad place for all that.