They don't know what they're in for at Spence, getting me, a ghost of a girl who'll nod and smile and take her tea but who isn't really here.

Writers are also sort of like vultures, but with fewer ethics.

Just once, she'd like to be the exciting one, the girl somebody wanted.

All the small, simple, conscious acts of living a sudden defense against the dying we do every day.

To each his own magic.

Travel opens your mind as few other things do. It is its own form of hypnotism, and I am forever under its spell

What Hamlet suffers from is a lack of zombies. Let us say Rosencrantz and Guildenstern show up—Ho-HO! Now you’ve got something that stirs the, um, something that stirs things that are stirrable. BOOM! A pack of ravenous flesh-eaters breaks open their heads and sucks out their eyeballs. No need for iambic pentameter because they are grunting, groaning annihilators of humanity with no time for meter. You’re not asleep in the back of English class anymore, are you? This is what I’m talking about. Zombies. Learn it, live it, love it.