Slowly, slowly, I accumulate sentences. I have no idea what I’m doing until suddenly it reveals itself, almost done.

It can be worth forgoing marriage for sex, and it can be worth forgoing sex for marriage. It can be worth forgoing parenthood for work, and it can be worth forgoing work for parenthood. Every case is orthogonal to all the others. That’s the entire problem.

I’ve never seen a ghost and I don’t believe in them. I might see one tonight, but even then I wouldn’t believe in ghosts. I’d believe in that ghost.

I like writing that is unsummarizable, a kernel that cannot be condensed, that must be uttered exactly as it is.

It can be worth forgoing marriage for sex, and it can be worth forgoing sex for marriage. It can be worth forgoing parenthood for work, and it can be worth forgoing work for parenthood. Every case is orthogonal to all the others. That’s the entire problem.

Everything has to be paid for, especially money.

It isn’t so much that geniuses make it look easy; it’s that they make it look fast.

It’s easier to speak to a crowd, to stare into the spotlight, than it is to look into a human face.

I annotated my friend’s book manuscript with scribbles on every page. She annotated mine with a single note: This needs to be better. She trusted that I would know what to do, and I did.