what's right? If you want something, you have the right to take it. If you want to do something, you have the right to do it.

I really believe that readers are smart and sophisticated enough to realize that the author is not the narrator of his novels.

And as the elevator descents, passing the second floor, and the first floor, going even father down, I realize that the money doesn't matter. That all that does is that I want to see the worst

Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.

No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You're not ever gonna know me.

A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating. She shrugs and nods after I say something about forms of anxiety. It's as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there... is... no... key.

I kept staring into the blackness of the woods, drawn into the darkness as I always had been. I suddenly realized how alone I was. (But this is how you travel, the wind whispered back, this is how you've always lived.)