But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defensless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get." I know what she's talking about. The something deeper and more secret. It's like cracks inside of you. Like there are these fault lines where things don't meet up right.

I just want to fly under the radar, because when you start to make yourself into a big deal, that's when you get shot down.

But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail

I have to tell you man, that my stalker meter is kind of registering in the red zone right now.

We have this habit of romanticizing the lives of writers. I remember when I was a kid, I was like, 'I want to be Kurt Vonnegut.'

It seemed like forever ago, like we've had this brief but still infinite forever. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

And yes, again, that was it exactly. A retyper and not a writer. A prodigy and not a genius.