...thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?

I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes. My friends have to keep reminding me how crazy my life has become, and then it hits me fresh and I just slap my forehead and think, "Wait, what... ?"

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

No praise, no blame. Just so.

Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.

Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he'll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I'll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we'll stand around and groan for a while. It's hard to say what 'friends' are any more, but that might be close.

What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature