I like to tell students, 'I didn't burst on to the literary scene.' I'm never good at things at the beginning. I was terrible at the start. I need to work and work.

The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

It's hard to not like a man who not only notices the colors, but speaks them

It was one of those moments of perfect tiredness, of having conquered not only the work at hand, but the night who had blocked the way.

She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

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