This world… belongs to the strong, my friend! The ritual of our existence is based on the strong getting stronger by devouring the weak.

They did type me as a horror writer, but I have been able to do all sorts of things within that framework.

I been silent so long now it’s gonna roar out of me like floodwaters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It’s still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it’s the truth even if it didn’t happen.

I listened to them fade away till all I could hear was my memory of the sound.

We'd just shared the last beer and slung the empty can out the window at a stop sign and were just waiting back to get the feel of the day, swimming in that kind of tasty drowsiness that comes over you after a day of going hard at something you enjoy doing -- half sunburned and half drunk and keeping awake only because you wanted to savor the taste as long as you could.

There've been a lot more people hurt on astro-turf than grass.

I'd rather be a lightning rod than a seismograph.