He sat upon his throne, which is made of skulls.

They walked back into the world together, wearing the gift that had been given them: just life. Pity was not love, Barbie reflected...but if you were a child, giving clothes to someone who was naked had to be a step in the right direction.

It's strange how pain marks our faces, and makes us look like family.

When you write you tell yourself a story. When you rewrite you take out everything that is NOT the story.

I have an idea of how the book will finish up, but it very rarely finishes up the way that I think it's going to.

Every marriage has two hearts, one light and one dark

He was a clot looking for a place to happen, a splinter of bone hunting a soft organ to puncture, a lonely lunatic cell looking for a mate - they would set up housekeeping and raise themselves a cozy little malignant tumor.