What it must feel like, I thought, to look at something, anything really, and know that it’s for the last time?

But the muse won’t always cooperate and she will never be coerced. Sometimes she’d rather take a nap or see a mid-afternoon movie.

I want to explain everything to him, show him that it’s really not as screwed up as it all sounds, but then I remember that it is.

Fate already warned us to pack it in. We just didn’t hear it in time.

When I'm writing novels, even screenplays, it's never an actor I have in mind; it's always the version in my head of who the character is. Once somebody gets cast, I have to adjust a little bit to who they are.

Even under the best of circumstances, there's just something so damn tragic about growing up.

It's sort of an organic process when you're adapting any book, not even just your own. You want to preserve the heart of the story and you want to preserve who the characters are, but film requires a lot of compression.