I am essentially an entertainer and a storyteller.

Words are like diamonds. Polish them too much, and all you get are pebbles.

I knew then that the person on the outside was only a shell, a presence to be seen and provoked. Inside was the real me, where my tears joined the tears of all the sad people to form the three waterfalls in the night country.

I watch people get older and lose their intellectual acuity; you lose that sharpness, that cleanness, that brain that you worked so hard on and that you were gifted with and lose the gifts that were given.

What's the point in being an unpopular writer? It just doesn't make a lot of sense. For me it doesn't, anyway.

Racism does not diminish with brains, it's a disease, a sickness, it may incubate in ignorance but it doesn't necessarily disappear with the gaining of wisdom!

I tell myself lies and soon I believe them.