It was good while it was good.

Enough of this. Does every conversation with you have to be the director’s cut? Get out of the car.

I can’t bear the silent ringing in my skull.

What’s lucky about my career in general is that I stumbled into what every writer most wants. Not repeating myself and doing strange things has become my trademark.

I guess they needed a maze in Japan, where everything’s neat and tidy. In America everybody’s already wandering around lost.

All Thinking is Wishful.

There’s something about the rhythms of language that correspond to the rhythms of our own bodies.

I raised that kid like I was running an egg-and-spoon race through a minefield, and he was the egg.

How strange it began to seem that cars have bodies that never are supposed to touch, a disaster if they do.

For those whose ganglia were formed pre-TV, the mimetic deployment of pop-culture icons seems at best an annoying tic and at worst a dangerous vapidity that compromises fiction’s seriousness by dating it out of the Platonic Always, where it ought to reside.