Fire taps something ancient and vital in each of us, something both snarling and reverential.

In a fire, you have to be thoughtful; you have to have a certain kind of intuitive smarts that the veterans have. I'm not there yet, despite the Stanford degree.

If there's a fire, I want to be there. Maybe because in being so close to death, I think I understand what it means to be truly alive.

The two of us were on fire every time we sat down to write.

Most people go to the office and sit at a desk. When firefighters go to the office, we might birth a baby in the morning, save a drowning surfer in the afternoon, and run into a fire at night. What could be more interesting than that?

I should really be lifting only five days. I'm sort of obsessed, and I end up going in six, sometimes seven, and that's not good. Something that I preach but don't practice - moderation.