It was something... the way a person's life picked up speed, the way a life was like a bullet aimed at one final target, impossible to slow or turn aside, and like the bullet, you were ignorant of what you were going to hit, would never know anything except the rush and the impact.

All the world is made of music. We are all strings on a lyre. We resonate. We sing together.

Don't ever have children, Tyler, unless you're ready to be afraid everyday for the rest of your life.

I didn't know the inner me was hungry," I said to Art. "That's because it already starved to death.

What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.

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

The language of sin was universal, the original Esperanto.