I procrastinate in spades. In my defence, I also try to have all other distractions solved before I can concentrate on writing. My small theory is that to write for three hours, you need to feel like you have three days. To write for three days, you need to feel like you've got three weeks, and so on.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

If they killed him tonight, at least he would die alive.

They were French, they were Jews, and they were you.

The nightmares arrived like they always did, much like the best player in the opposition when you've heard rumors that he might be injured or sick-but there he is, warming up with the rest of them, ready to take the field.

Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.