The only things I regret, and the only things I'll ever regret are things I didn't do. In the end, that's what we mourn. The paths we didn't take. The people we didn't touch.

I thought of my mother (...). Freud wrote that no man is secure in the love of his mother can ever be a failure. Well, I had been busy proving that theory wrong.

A novelist is someone who sits around the house all day in his underwear, trying not to smoke.

Everything creepy and Southern isn't Faulknerian, just like everything annoying isn't Kafkaesque.

It was a once in a lifetime thing. I hate to think it but I bet it's true. It's too bad for us that our once in a lifetime happened when were too young to handle it.

No pain could match the emptiness of separation, no agony rivaled the unreality of not being with her.

On a ship thats made of paper, I would sail the seven seas. (Just to be with you)