...they watched the humans disappear. They watched them dissolve, like moving tablets in the humid air.

I can promise you that the world is a factory. The sun stirs it, the humans rule it. And I remain. I carry them away.- spoken by death

Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

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

You should know it yourself- a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn.

Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it.

My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.