All paths lead nowhere; choose one with heart...

My inner chemistry had been hijacked by a mad scientist, who poured the fizzy, volatile contents of my heart from a test tube marked SOBER REALITY into another labeled SUNNY DELUSION, and back again, faster and faster, until the floor of my life was slick with spillage.

As much as I revere great writing, and am still humbled by it, literary activities are no longer esoteric to me. When I read a great novel - something that I could never have written myself - I'm still looking at it a little bit like a technician.

I prefer old books and find them more relevant. I dislike new books. It's like drinking wine that's not ready.

Teenage life - possibly adult life too is all about what you want and can’t have. And then about what you receive and misuse.

Poetry is supposed to be musical. But people don't understand prose. They're so used to reading journalism - clunky, functional sentences that convey factual information - facts, more than just the surfaces of things.

Reading and writing are the same thing; it's just one's the more active and the other's the more passive. They flow into each other.