Lifestyle is an terrible, unpleasant put to not have a very finest buddy.

You bought me some forks. And knives. And spoons. Because you love me!

I thought again how you could never really know what you were seeing with just a glance, in motion, passing by. Good or bad, right or wrong. There was always so much more.

I think part of the problem sometimes is that there's so much happening in my books, to whittle it down into a single script is hard.

And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.

Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together.

But God!Who could live like this , anyway, with the kind of guesswork that was enough to make a person crazy, just sailing along, taking bumps here and there, no course navigated whatsoever, with any big wave capable of just tipping and sinking you entirely. IT was madness, stipidity, and- (then I saw him)