The rulers of the country generally believed that betting eliminates strikes. Men had to work in order to gamble.

A blind lover, don't know what I love till I write it out

Some people you just had to embrace, in some way or another, had to bite into the muscle, to remain sane in their company. You needed to grab their hair and clutch it like a drowner so they would pull you into their midst. Otherwise they, walking casually down the street towards you, almost about to wave, would leap over a wall and be gone for months.

Sadness is very close to hate.

How does this happen? To fall in love and be disassembled.

You're getting everyone's point of view at the same time, which for me, is the perfect state for a novel: a cubist state, the cubist novel.

Death means you are in the third person.