People lose fifty million skin cells every day. The cells get scraped off and turn into invisible dust, and disappear into the air. Maybe we are nothing but skin cells as far as the world is concerned.

I closed my own jazz bar so I could be a man who can write novels as I like. I was pleased about that. This pleasure was connected to the pleasure of writing.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.

Give yourself five minutes to consider how you can turn a miserable situation to your benefit and that light bulb is going to click on.

Not everything was lost in the flow of time

My imagination is a kind of animal. So what I do is keep it alive.

He does not exist here, with me, but flesh that does not exist will never die, and promises unmade are never broken.