Britney: You in a fight? Odd: No, It's an employment-related fork wound.

If Edgar Allan Poe were alive today, his agent would be constantly slapping him upside the head with tightly rolled copies of his brilliant short stories and novelettes, yelling, 'Full-length novels, you moron! Pay attention! What's the matter with you -- are you shooting heroin or something? Write for the market! No more of this midlength 'Fall of the House of Usher' crap

Books had shown me, however, that all people everywhere wanted their lives to have purpose and meaning. This longing was universal.

Sorrow is not a raven perched persistently above a chamber door. Sorrow is a thing with teeth, and while in time it retreats, it comes back at the whisper of it's name.

we must seize life because we never know how much of it remains for us, that faith is the antidote to despair and that laughter is the music of faith.

One of the underlying things I like to do in books, is just say, stop and look at this for a moment. Not that you've got to believe that Jesus was real, or not to believe in God, but the belief that it isn't just happenstance.

Night has patterns that can be read less by the living than by the dead.