People didn't know who I was or why I was there, so they started inventing stories about me. I was a registered sex offender and I'd just been released from prison and was being forced to do community-service work. I was a murderer, an arsonist - all these horrific things had been projected on me because no one knew what to make of this white guy who showed up and made toast at 5 o'clock every morning.

If I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible.

Most times, it's just a lot easier not to let the world know what's wrong.

Crying is right at hand in the smothering dark, closed inside someone else, when you see how everything you can ever accomplish will end up as trash.

I am not loved. I am not a beautiful soul. I am not a good-natured, giving person. I am not anybody's savior.

Everybody's trying to make every minute of the present last forever. Preserve every second.

What you have to understand, is your father was your model for God.