I've always known when I start a story what the last line is. It's always been the case, since the first story I ever wrote. I don't know how it's going to get there, but I seem to need the destination. I need to know where I end up. It never changes, ever.

In my head there's a broken balcony I fall off of when I speak.

And I see that not touching for so long was a drive to the beach with the windows rolled up so the waves feel that much colder.

Dreams: the place most of us get what we need.

I'm not good at small talk; I'm not good at big talk; and medium talk just doesn't come up.

All those years on the psychiatrist's couch and suddenly the couch is moving. Good God, she is on that couch when the big one hits. Maidy didn't tell you, but you know what her doctor said? She sprang from the couch and said, "My God, was that an earthquake?" The doctor said this: "Did it feel like an earthquake to you?

I thought, my love is so good, why isn't it calling the same thing back.