My backyard was replete with madness, it just grew indigenously in South Florida.

I swim with all my strength. No superhuman surge, or pony heroics; it's just me at my most desperate.

Mythology is a really beautiful vocabulary passed down through centuries that helps us understand the perennial parts of our nature.

Regret is a pilgrimage back to the place where I was free to choose.

I'm probably a lot closer than perhaps the contents of my early fiction suggest to a jaded Denny's waitress with smoker's-lung-black humor than a ghost hunter.

Madness, as I understood it from books, meant a person who was open to the high white whine of everything.

In a way, I think we all want to look to that journalistic voice as a kind of global omniscience, a big eye to correct for our own limited purview: "Here's a realistic accounting of the world in which we live."