I like to read books. I like to listen to music.

Reality was utterly coolheaded and utterly lonely.

I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for.

I don't think of myself as an artist. I'm just a guy who can write.

sometimes I think I've got this hard kernel in my heart, and nothing much can get inside it. I doubt if I can really love anybody.

Fate seems to be taking me in some even stranger directions.

Thinking about spaghetti that boils eternally but is never done is a sad, sad thing.