I write in longhand and assemble lots of notes, and then I try to collate them into a coherent chronology. It's like groping along in the dark. I like writing and find it challenging, but I don't find it easy.

The worst cynicism: a belief in luck.

By the way of connecting with subject, with theme, I was able to find a kind of lifeline. Writing's like a lifeline. You have to get the right way in. Otherwise the material just lies there, and you can't do anything with it.

That's how a thing starts out real then ends up just an idea.

Death is just the last scene of the last act.

Near the point of impact, time acelerates to the speed of light.

I was trying not to be happy, hopeful. I did not believe I deserved happiness or even hope, if you knew my soul.