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.

There's a terrible dark joy when the only person who knows all your secrets is finally dead.

So if you think this is going to save you...If you think anything is going to save you...Please consider this your final warning.

Marla tells me how in the wild you don't see old animals because as soon as they age, animals die. If they get sick or slow down, something stronger kills them. Animals aren't meant to get old. Marla lies down on her bed and undoes the tie on her bathrobe, and says our culture has made death something wrong. Old animals should be an unnatural exception. Freaks.

you're doomed at being you.

Nothing happened, and nothing kept happening.

Everyone wants to be tested and challenged. Everyone would like a good, honest fight to exhaust their frustrations.