It is so much simpler to bury reality than it is to dispose of dreams

Explain me to myself, you’ll make me choke on my lunch. Feel sympathy for me, I’ll puke monkey blood on your understated shoes.

I've got death inside me. It's just a question of whether or not I can outlive it.

I am not comfortable with abstract writing, stories that look like essays: you have to see, I need to see.

There's always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down.

The more things I threw away, the more I found.

Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us.