I love to write, so it rarely seems like work - even when it gets arduous.

Charm was the luxury of those who still believed in the essential rightness of things. In purity and picket fences.

There are threads in our lives. You pull one, and everything else gets affected.

Everyone sees different things.

The world does not have tidy endings. The world does not have neat connections. It is not filled with epiphanies that work perfectly at the moment that you need them.

The world according to Bubba is simple - if it aggravates you, stop it. By whatever means necessary.

It had occurred to Sean once - on a bender about ten years before with some buddies, Sean and a bloodstream full of bourbon turning philosophical - that maybe they HAD gotten in that car. All three of them. And what they now thought of as their life was just a dream state. That all three of them were, in reality, still eleven-year-old boys trapped in some cellar, imagining what they'd become if they ever escaped and grew up.