We are unusual and tragic and alive.

To me any given story has its appropriate form. There might be some story I get involved with that's begging to be a graphic novel, so that will have to be that way.

I often cannot believe the things I do.

She pulls away, pats me on the shoulder with three mini-pats, like those used to pet reptiles.

My head was a condemned church with a ceiling of bats, but I swung from this dark mood to euphoria when I thought about leaving.

We would oppose the turning of the planet and refuse the setting of the sun.

He must trust, and he must have faith. And so he builds, because what is building, and rebuilding and rebuilding again, but an act of faith?