As always, one of her books was next to her.

She let herself love me for three minutes. Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already know the answer. Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

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.

He killed himself for wanting to live.

Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky, dark, dark chocolate.

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

The water crumbles on it's way down as my hands and feet push me forward. The world is lightening, taking shape, and turning to color. It feels like it's being painted around me.