You can't compare and rank heartache. Pain is pain is pain. There is no precise measurement. No quarter cup.

I just try to write what I think would really happen, and with grief and tragedy, there are these naturally occurring moments of levity and humor and absurdity. I think that's what life is really like. Sadness gets interrupted, and happiness gets interrupted.

I like the way men cry. They're efficient.

That's how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too.

I like to add props to render the specificities of place - paintings, food, clothing, signs, infrastructure, music, sayings and slang particular to the region and particular to the character. And props shouldn't just sit there; they should get used.

Why is it so hard to articulate love yet so easy to express disappointment?