I guess my writing has changed as my life has.

There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me.

I’d like to go out in the front yard and shout something. “None of this is worth it!” That’s what I’d like people to hear.

We knew our days were numbered. We had fouled up our lives and we were getting ready for a shake-up.

In short, everything about his life was different for him at the bottom of that well.

I think a little menace is fine to have in a story. For one thing, it's good for the circulation.

This is awful. I don't know what's going to happen to me or to anyone else in the world.