Fantasy is the tendency of Americans, going back to colonial times, to look at the Middle East as a type of fractured mirror of the United States - a type of mirror that could look a lot more like the United States, if, say, a Middle Eastern George W...
I really love middle-grade. Middle-grade books have a little more of a magical, light-hearted feel. You can be a little bit more quirky, you can have a little more humor. It doesn't get so dark and deep.
One side of me is very busy paying attention to the details of life, the humanity of people, catching the street voices, the middle-class, upper-middle-class secret lives of Turks. The other side is interested in history and class and gender, trying ...
The American middle class always wants to be upper class and is scared to death of being lower class. It's a highly mobile group of people. They're not like the people that want to be shopkeepers forever, have always been shopkeepers and want always ...
I think predictability is built into any good novel in some way - you begin reading Anna Karenina and you know pretty much what's going to happen at the end. But that doesn't mean you know what's going to happen in the middle. For me, it's that sense...
The fact that the Bush administration, and those in Europe who have followed its 9/11-inspired agenda, somehow believe that the future of the world is being played out in the Middle East and Central Asia rather than East Asia has only served to accel...
I do as much outdoor stuff as I can. What I've done is I bought a house in the middle of Hollywood, but I live in the forest. I literally live in an area that looks kind of like where I camped as a kid, but in the middle of Hollywood. It's called Lau...
It's not white versus black any more, it's haves versus have-nots. Unless the black middle-classes unite to promote the interests of the black underclass, tension between them is inevitable. What we, the black middle class have to do, is think of a s...
In Greenville, we were blessed to have lots of youth arts programs. I changed middle schools to go to an arts middle school. Then, when high school came, I went to normal high school for a little while before auditioning for the Governor's School for...
The oil industry fought hard to keep Keystone alive, making wildly exaggerated claims that the pipeline - the country's largest infrastructure project - would create tens of thousands of jobs and decrease America's reliance on oil from the Middle Eas...
If anything, taxes for the lower and middle class and maybe even the upper middle class should even probably be cut further. But I think that people at the high end - people like myself - should be paying a lot more in taxes. We have it better than w...
She told me she loved me. She told me a lot of things. Some of those things were true, and some of those may or may not have been true. It’s kind of hard to tell, because to be honest, I wasn’t listening.
He met her because I didn’t show up that day and he went in my place. If they get married, I should be the best man. I am Invisible Cupid, so where’s my monument to love?
I pee in the sink, so I can save time by washing my hands at the same time that I am urinating. I’ll bet you’re wondering where my favorite place to make love is.
I sorted my sordid sort ofs from my maybes. Then I made love like never before. Seriously, I’d never made love before, and I have to say, it didn’t cost me as much money as I expected.
I told her, “I admire your mustache madam, but I wonder, what’s for dessert?” Knowing her and knowing me, she probably thought I meant I love you.
I wore a hat, to compensate for the fact that my pants were unzipped. When we made love, she asked if I brought a condom, so I showed her my tube socks. I brought two, for twice the protection.
My meeting was at 9:00 AM, and I walked in the room at 9:01. She said, “You’re late.” I stopped, my jaw open and slack, because I knew she was right. I was late—but for what? I was late for love.
When the sky is blue, I think of her. When the sky is gray, I think of her. When the sky is black, I think of her. But when the sky is orange, I think of juice, and how I am thirsty—for her love.
I tried picking my nose once, but I was too indecisive. I would tell you I love you, but I can’t decide if maybe I’m not really in love with your clone.
From across the bar, I saw her see me seeing her see me, and I knew that she knew, and with all this knowledge and vision I figured it must be love. But I could be wrong, because it turns out that I need glasses.
