Sometimes it's better not to look back.

Strange, I thought, how you can be living your dreams and your nightmares at the very same time.

My portal to another world was fiction.

But these weren't the kind of monsters that had tentacles and rotting skin, the kind a seven-year-old might be able to wrap his mind around-they were monsters with human faces, in crisp uniforms, marching in lockstep, so banal you don't recognize them for what they are until it's too late.

It's easy to say you don't care about money when you have plenty of it.

When someone won't let you in, eventually you stop knocking.

I never remember nice dreams; only the bad ones stick.