Just each of us being me, me, me first. The murderer, the victim, the witness each of us thinks our role is the lead. Probably that goes for anybody in the world.

You are permanent, but this life is not.

This is passive-aggression in action.

Just for the record, she still loves you. She wouldn't bother to torture you if she didn't.

The gyms you go to are crowded with guys trying to look like men, as if being a man means looking the way a sculptor or an art director says.

Everyone has something wrong. And for a while, her heart just sort of flat lined.

I remember selling my first short story and thinking, Oh my god, I sold something for fifty dollars! That gives me the authority to say I'm a writer and to actually write more things! It legitimized the activity.