Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons, and quite often the bad books have more to teach than the good ones.

He realized now that a lot of the problem had been his own mind, which was usually moving at a speed ten or twenty times that of his classmates. They had thought him strange, weird, or even suicidal, depending on the escapade in question, but maybe it had been a simple case of mental overdrive-if anything about being in constant mental overdrive was simple. Anyway, it was the sort of thing you got under control after a while-you got it under control or you found outlets for it.

Do it for joy and you can do it forever

I think telling stories is like pushing something. Pushing against uncreation itself, maybe.

He was a romantic in his own harsh way…yet he was also realist enough to know that some times love actually did conquer all.

I wanted to write a balls-to-the-wall supernatural horror story, something I haven't done in a long time.

There had never been a shortage of fools in the world