But what I really want is to just swim around in a warm baby pool of these friends, jump in their dry leaf pile-to rub them all over myself, without words and clothes.

If you don't want anyone to know about your existence, you might as well kill yourself. You're taking up space, air.

Nothing again. No one is listening. No one is waiting to hear the kicking of a man above. It is unexpected. You have no ears for someone like me.

I publish my own books, so there isn't a certain editor I owe the book to at a publishing house.

WHEN we don't get the results we want in our military endeavors, we don't blame the soldiers.

There is travel and there are babies; everything else is drudgery and death.

I need eight hours to get maybe 20 minutes of work done. I had one of those yesterday: seven hours of self-loathing.