It's just a crazy damned life, that's all.

With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.

At this moment, the story in his head was perfect. He also knew from experience that it would degenerate the second he started typing, because such was the nature of writing.

I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.

Is where you're from the place you're leaving or where you have roots?

The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.

I just think I'm better equipped to make a study of human personality than trying to get into the mind of animals.