Yesterday I wanted to turn inside out.

People around the world were moving from one place to another. No one was staying.

Flea-Market vendors are frozen mid-haggle. Middle-aged women are frozen in the middle of their lives. The gavels of frozen judges are frozen between guilt and innocence. On the ground are the crystals of the frozen first breaths of babies, and those of the last gasps of the dying.

i couldn't speak the language of his feelings

Highs and lows make you feel that things matter, but they're nothing." "So what's something?" "Being reliable is something. Being good.

Writing's funny, it's like walking down a hall in the dark looking for the light switch, and suddenly you find it, flip it on, and then you discover the hallway you passed through is papered with the novel you've written.

Nothing is beautiful and true.