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He was a fugitive, lurking soul, James Leer. He didn't belong anywhere, but things went much better for him in places where nobody belonged.

Michael Chabon

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Michael Chabon
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: May 24
Author
Columnist
Essayist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Television Producer
Writer
Washington
District of Columbia
Leon Chaim Bach
Malachi B. Cohen
August Van Zorn
Soul
Belonged
Better
James
Much
Belong
Things
Anywhere
Places
Nobody
Went
Fugitive
Didn
Lurking

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Every Messiah fails, the moment he tries to redeem himself.
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That evening I rode downtown on an unaccountably empty bus, sitting in the last row. At the front I saw a thin cloud of smoke rising around the driver’s head. ‘Hey, bus driver,’ I said. ‘Can I smoke?’ ‘May I,’ said the bus driver. ‘I love you,’ I said.
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Not only would I never want to belong to any club that would have me for a member--if elected I would wear street shoes onto the squash court and set fire to the ballroom curtains.
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What's going to be hard for me is to try to divorce myself as much as possible from what I wrote. I'll have to approach it simply as raw material and try to craft a film script out of it.
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Most science fiction seemed to be written for people who already liked science fiction I wanted to write stories for anyone, anywhere, living at any time in the history of the world.
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Procrastination is something you do yourself. You know: I gotta sharpen these pencils before I start. I got 20 pencils, they're looking kinda dull. Well, the pencils aren't calling you and alluring you and inviting you and offering you anything. They're just sitting there. You're the one who's procrastinating.
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A father is a man who fails every day.
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As long as she was falling in love with me, I might as well start making her promises I didn't intend to keep.
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A story begins with this nebulous feeling that’s hard to get a hold of and you’re testing your feelings and assumptions, testing what you believe. They end up turning into keepsakes and mementos –like amber in which a memory gets trapped.
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The world like our heads was meant to be escaped from, they are prisons world and head alike.
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Take care-there is no force more powerful than that of an unbridled imagination.
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If children are not permitted-not taught-to be adventurers and explorers as children, what will become of the world...?
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She was a natural blonde, with delicate hands and feet, and in her youthful photographs one saw a girl with mocking eyes and a tragic smile, the course of whose life would conspire in time to transpose that pair of adjectives.
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