I really did not feel okay about any of this, and there was really nothing I could do about any of it.

I'm not a cinephile. My films don't reference films. I'm more interested in rhythm and feeling.

That day I carried the dream around like a full glass of water, moving gracefully so I would not lose any of it.

When you're not doing fiction, there's a limit to how much illustrating you can do with your work. I mean, you can do fine. There are great non-fiction writers, but people aren't necessarily going to say anything that reveals them as much as a picture might. Even their surroundings, in lot of cases, the things that meant the most to me were the things I noticed in their houses. I was always looking, as much as I was listening to them. I was looking around for clues as to why I was there.

She bludgeoned me with a look of such limitless compassion that I immediately began to cry.

Live the dream, Potato.

There was nothing in this world that was not a con, suddenly I understood this. Nothing really mattered, and nothing could be lost.