It's raining questions around here. A person could drown in them.

There are no windows within the dark house of depression through which to see others, only mirrors.

Conversing with children is a fine art.... An art form that demands large amounts of both honesty and misdirection. Or maybe discretion is a better word.

It was the first time that we had sort of articulated our major problem. She wanted to die and I wanted her to live and we were enemies who loved each other.

Is it wrong to trust in a beautiful lie if it helps you get through life?

It bothered me in a kind of Charles Manson way to have a brown smear of blood on my wall but I also liked it because every time I looked at it I was reminded that I was, at that very moment, not bleeding from my face. And those are powerful words of hope, really.

I learned another thing, which is that just because someone is eating the ashes of your protagonist doesn't mean you stop telling the story.