Stanislavski was right, you can find fresh pain every time you discover what you pretty much already know.

If you take my stuff apart, you'll find my choruses of repetitions are picked up almost verbatim from Kurt Vonnegut, and my distanced fracture quality is all from Amy Hempel, who's probably my favourite writer.

Love is bullshit. Emotion is bullshit.

They're just words is all. Powerless. Vocabulary. Dialogue.

The police are asking through the bedroom door, why did I make a batch of strawberry daiquiris before I called them? Because we were out of raspberries. Because, can't they see, it just does not matter. Time was not of the essence.

Does it hurt very much to die? Well, sweetheart, yes, but it hurts a lot more to keep living.

You'll need to suffer to make any real art.