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)

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

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

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.

You're all I care about," I said. "No. And me. The person I am when I'm with you, the way I see myself and know myself. That person who lives only when I'm with you.

The trouble with excuses, however, is that they become inevitably difficult to believe after they’ve been used a couple of times.