I do want to go another way - to write something completely different.

What does all this mean finally, I kept asking like a college kid. Why does it make me want to cry? Maybe it’s that we are all outsiders, we are all making our own unusual way through a wilderness of normality that is just a myth.

A perfect world or a world destroyed, one or the other- someday will come the end of hell.

Anger is too pathetic. Anger is as weak as fear.

Making a film, I've learned, can be an exhausting process, due to the need for backing, distribution, etc.

And so this young one, this young one whom I had so loved, I had to forsake, no matter how broken my heart, no matter how lonely my soul, no matter how bruised my intellect and spirit.

I was good and bad, but never wicked.