She lived for others, her heart tuned to their anguish and their needs.
People couldn't bear to go on living if they faced every cold truth about themselves.
Only once in a generation does anything as fresh as a vomiting detective come along.
I survive by finding the sweet spot between reason and unreason, between the rational and irrational.
The hands of every clock are shears, trimming us away scrap by scrap, and every time piece with a digital readout blinks us towards implosion.
Some days I'm lucky to squeeze out a page of copy that pleases me, but I get as many as six or seven pages on a very good day; the average is probably three pages.