I ached once, hard, like a period typed at the end of a sentence.

A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It's the kind of place that leaves a mark.

Coffee goes great with sudden death.

Love makes you want to be a better man. But maybe love, real love, also gives you permission to just be the man you are.

I feel like I need to give people a note with the book that says, 'I'm OK, no worries!'

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

What an indulgence it would be, to just blow off my head, all my mean spirits disappearing with a gun blast, like blowing a seedy dandelion apart.