The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.

Life should always be like this. ... Like lingering over a good meal.

So much wanting and longing, clutching, desiring, passion and hatred and terrible need. Here, death was suitable, there was room for it, the grip of life's relentless urges slackened, replaced by this icy simplicity. This wasnt her death. It was his. That was the sad and honest truth. Though it would stay with her, it would be more like a black onyx heart on a silver chain, worn privately, under her clothes, close to her body, all her life. The guilt, the beauty, everything. It wasnt over, it had only begun. Well ok then, Okay.

Don't hoard the past. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.

My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.

I think we're starved for a life of the senses. We're in the garage, we're in the car, we drive to work, we're in a windowless cubicle that's gray and beige. In a way, it's funny that we consider ourselves an advanced culture, because people who live in so-called primitive environments still enjoy the richness of the smells, colors, and sounds of our world. We all crave that.

If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?