The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?

And if there is no god? You act as if there is, and it's the same thing.

Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.

These people picked you up and played with you and then left you lying in the rain

A cliché is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

What happened to a dream without a dreamer?

It wasn't awful to be dead. The stillness would almost be a relief. She wouldn't want pain, she wouldn't want to be wounded or mutilated. She could never shoot herself or jump off a building. But being dead wasn't unthinkable.