This is nourishing, redemptive we become less alone inside.

Almost nothing important that ever happens to you happens because you engineer it.

I have filled 3 Mead notebooks trying to figure out whether it was Them or Just Me.

If you're automatically sure that you know what reality is and who and what is really important - if you want to operate on your default-setting - then you, like me, will not consider possibilities that aren't pointless and annoying.

Under fun's new administration, writing fiction becomes a way to go deep inside yourself and illuminate precisely the stuff you don't want to see or let anyone else see, and this stuff usually turns out (paradoxically) to be precisely the stuff all writers and readers share and respond to, feel.

People, unless they're paying attention, tend to confuse fanciness with intelligence or authority.

‎Who would die for this chance to be fed this death of pleasure with spoons, in their warm homes, alone, unmoving?