Every artist has limits. No one can do everything. It's impossible.

Someday I would change my name to Shut Up and save everybody a lot of time.

Writing is physical for me. I always have the sense that the words are coming out of my body, not just my mind.

You discovered yourself and what really mattered only after you passed through the lens of the fairy tale, imposed on every human female and male alike, that someone existed out in the forest of the world for you to love and marry.

There were days when no kid came out of his house without looking around. The week after Halloween had a quality both hungover and ominous, the light pitched, the sky smashed against the rooftops.

It wasn't for children, seventh grade. You could read the stress of even entering the building in the postures of the teachers, the security guards. Nobody could relax in such a racial and hormonal disaster area.

I can't bear the silent ringing in my skull.