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We all look for lost time.

This experience of getting so lost in my writing that I lose track of time, or of anything outside the imagined world, is a release for me.

I have a great many shortcomings, but writing for something on time has never bothered me.

The writing life is one long, never-ending search for narrative. Well, it's not even a conscious searching. It happens even while you're busy buying groceries and when you're fast asleep. It's a curse.

Fundamentally, all writing is about the same thing; it's about dying, about the brief flicker of time we have here, and the frustration that it creates.

I think after you write something and you're finished with it, there is a sense of loss. That this is a world I can't really re-enter the way that I could when I was working on it. The covers of the book close it to the writer.

There's a practical problem about time and energy, and a more subtle problem of what it does to a writer's head, to continually analyze why they write, where it all comes from, where it's going to.

For me, there is urgency in fiction, even though writing is, in itself, an act against the corrosiveness of time.

If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write.

I feel like I don't understand time in novels, really. I bumble forward, is all.