My mom has a tape from when I was, like, 2 years old, talking with my grandma, telling her a story that's really elaborate about werewolves and wolves.

I’m not a bloody cockroach. What’s all this about? What are you trying to find out?

It smelled pretty rank, but I was getting used to the smell of death, as much as anyone could get used to it.

That's kind of creepy.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that you can't live somebody else's life for them. They have to make their own choices, and sometimes all we can do is learn to live with them.

I looked at him like he was an idiot, but he didn’t notice. Or maybe he got it so often, he thought that was how people looked at him.

I priced my books at what I would want to spend on an electronic book.