I felt like it needed some color down there, so I painted the walls with the motherfucker.

I want you to remember what was good in me, not what was most awful. The people you love should be allowed to keep their worst to themselves.

Gold don't come off. What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.

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.

Fantasy was always only a reality waiting to be switched on.

It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.

And he paddled away in his douche canoe.