Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die.

That’s when I first learned that it wasn’t enough to just do your job, you had to have an interest in it, even a passion for it.

As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.

The trouble with a mask is it never changes

there was something about that city, though it didn't let me feel guilty that I had no feeling for the things so many others needed. it let me alone. sitting up in my bed the lights out, hearing the outside sounds, lifting my cheap bottle of wine, letting the warmth of the grape enter me as I heard the rats moving about the room, I preferred them to humans. being lost, being crazy maybe is not so bad if you can be that way undisturbed. New Orleans gave me that. nobody ever called my name.

Sundays kill more people than bombs.

eleven months. now she's gone gone as they go.