...to swear with a ferocity that can only be described as a talent.

I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.

The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .

When I was growing up, I wanted to be a house painter like my father, but I was always screwing up when I went to work with him. I had a talent for knocking over paint and painting myself into corners. I also realized fairly quickly that painting bored me.

for some reason, dying men always ask the question they know the answer to. perhaps it's so they can die being right.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.

It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.