House of Leaves is certainly about the unsettling nature of fear - and it was my aim to address that - but its also about recovering from fear.

I think that's what finally stopped me. I slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. There was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.

...and there you have it, another body on the floor surrounded by things that don't mean much to anyone except to the one who can't take any of them along.

One forgets that one is one. I must try to remember this.

Knowledge is hot water on wool. It shrinks time and space.

Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer.

Sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila.