There you go...let it all slide out. Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears.

I wonder if everyone who faces death hurts like this. It's as though for the first time I realize how much just being alive makes my body ache. But I don't want that ache to stop.

He would never abandon her, never leave a gaping hole, and even if he died someday, he was preserved like a lab specimen from all the alcohol he imbibed, so he wouldn't look or act much different.

Razo was sorely tempted to assert that all was true and he'd lost his horns and tail in a tragic childhood accident

Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.

Miss Erstwhile: “It is such a relief, Mr. Nobley, to already know that you find this exercise vulgar and your partner unworthy. It saves us the idle chitchat.” Mr. Nobley: “And yet you chat away.

If we're mad, we're mad in large numbers, at least larger than yours.