How many people ask you to come share their life?

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

No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.

There is no God, there is only what you want.

I'm always looking for something new and interesting to say. And it can't be something I'm directly experiencing.

Death like a lover, caressing him, promising him peace, running its fingers through his hair, its tongue in his ear. She put her own two fingers in her mouth. Im so sorry. And pulled the trigger

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