People seem to think that they can't come up with ideas, and they're wrong. They can and they do, but they just think of it as daydreaming, or wasting time. Kids get told not to make things up, and in my case, nobody told me long enough, or it just didn't stick.

Perhaps this is the ultimate freedom, eh, Dreamlord? The freedom to leave.

I sat in the dark and thought: There’s no big apocalypse. Just an endless procession of little ones.

Identity can be so gelatinous sometimes.

Being a writer of fiction isn't like being a compulsive liar, honestly.

I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too.

So," he asked. "How's death?" "Hard," she said. "It just keeps going.