I don't think things are ever exactly the way one expects, and I don't think things are ever the way one assumes they are at the moment. What I actually think is that one has no idea of what things are like, ever.

Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.

Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.

The world belongs to no one. There are very few people who fit into the world. And part of the struggle of every human life is to somehow claim a place on the planet, but it's at the forefront of the experience of the wandering race. The wandering people.

One of the amazing things about writing fiction is that you do get to be other people.

I always need huge amounts of time to do anything.