You know someone for a while and then one day a hole opens underneath them, and they fall out of your world.

The mad sometimes drilled holes in their own heads to let the demons out. To relieve the pressure of thoughts they could no longer bear. Jude understood the impulse. Each beat of his heart was a fresh and staggering blow felt in the nerves behind his eyes and in his temples. Punishing evidence of life.

Pick a sin we can both live with, is what I ask.

Terror is the desire to save your own ass, but horror is rooted in sympathy.

I remind myself that no one day of writing matters all that much. A story is built somewhat like a stalactite - one little drip of mud and grit at a time.

I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.

She just knew that even when you had nothing, you still had love.