When I was younger, I used to find stories about divas charming. Not much anymore.

By nature, a storyteller is a plagiarist. Everything one comes across—each incident, book, novel, life episode, story, person, news clip—is a coffee bean that will be crushed, ground up, mixed with a touch of cardamom, sometimes a tiny pinch of salt, boiled thrice with sugar, and served as a piping-hot tale.

...What happens is of little significance compared with the stories we tell ourselves about what happens. Events matter little, only stories of events affect us.

I can easily hold two opposing beliefs at the same time without any problem, which I find - well, mind-expanding, really.

I get upset about what is taken as great literature and what is cute and exotic.

I oscillate between being cynical and being naive on a regular basis. I always think that not much shocks me until something much too obvious does.