The air itself was ebony, like the denial, the refutation, of the idea of light.

Everything seems fine until you're about 40. Then something is definitely beginning to go wrong. And you look in the mirror with your old habit of thinking, 'While I accept that everyone grows old and dies, it's a funny thing, but I'm an exception to that rule.

Each life is a game of chess that went to hell on the seventh move(...)

More will mean worse.

While making love, we often talk about money. I like it. I like that dirty talk

Most writers need a wound, either physical or spiritual.

It's been said that happiness writes white. It doesn't show up on the page. When you're on holiday and writing a letter home to a friend, no one wants a letter that says the food is good and the weather is charming and the accommodations comfortable. You want to hear about lost passports and rat-filled shacks.