I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.

What do you do when your entire identity is destroyed in an instant? How do you cope when your whole life story turns out to bw wrong?

The worst part of writing fiction is the fear of wasting your life behind a keyboard. The idea that, dying, you'll realize you only lived on paper. Your only adventures were make-believe, and while the world fought and kissed, you sat in some dark room masturbating and making money.

You have no idea what it is like to constantly disappoint people. You see it the moment you meet them. You see in their eyes that they expected something so entirely different, and here they are meeting you.

When you go out with a drunk, you’ll notice how a drunk fills your glass so he can empty his own. As long as you’re drinking, drinking is okay. Two’s company. Drinking is fun. If there’s a bottle, even if your glass isn’t empty, a drunk, he’ll pour a little in your glass before he fills his own. This only looks like generosity.

In a world where billions believe their deity conceived a mortal child with a virgin human, it's stunning how little imagination most people display.

Don't write about your most emotionally charged moment as a learning thing.