I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.

I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.

I always marvel at the humans' ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.

He left Himmel Street wearing his hangover and a suit.

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

Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary, poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their vanishing words. I watched their love visions and freed them from their fear.

... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.