Ah, well, being conflicted means you can live a shallow life without copping to be a shallow person.

Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.)

People love talking, and I have never been a huge talker. I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don't reach my lips.

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.

Sleep is like a cat: It only comes to you if you ignore it.

There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.

I've always been partial to the image of liquor as lubrication, a layer of protection from all the sharp thoughts in your head.