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.

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

You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.

When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.

A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)

Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?

I'm gonna hunt my life down and grab it.