One paradox of professional writing is that books written solely for money and/or acclaim will almost never be good enough to garner either.

It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience.

Fiction, poetry, music...these are the places (for me) where loneliness is countenanced, stared down, transfigured, treated.

I have always tried to avoid talking to pretty girls, because pretty girls have a vicious effect on me in which every part of my brain is shut down except for the part that says unbelievably stupid things and the part that is aware that I am saying unbelievably stupid things.

The reader becomes God, for all textual purposes. I see your eyes glazing over, so I'll hush.

We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?

How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.