Believe it or not--it takes a lot of love to hate you like this.

How'd it feel?" Rube asked himself. "I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

I'm not a writer who refuses to talk about a book until I've finished.

Could she smell my breath? Could she hear my cursed circular heart beat revolving like the crime it is in my deathly chest?

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.