He needed fresh air and sunshine. A walk in the woods and afterward a good book to read by the fire. Yeah, that was the life.

Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.

Knowing and believing are two different things.

I don't know if real courage lies in storming barricades or simply not denying the truth.

I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi’s. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?