The town was paper, but the memories were not.

And the moral of the story is that you don’t remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.

The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rockstar and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

The champagne had been donated by one of Gus's doctors - Gus being the kind of person who inspires doctors to give their best bottles of champagne to children.

There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed OK at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can't know better until knowing better is useless.

Sometimes I dream that I'm writing a memoir. A memoir would just be the thing to keep me in the hearts and memories of my adoring public.

Words are not static.Language shape our memories, and it is also shaped by our memories.

For me, at least, fiction is the only way i can even begin to twist my lying memories into something true.

I kept it for myself like a keepsake, as if sharing the memory might lead to its dissipation.