Time slowed and reality bent; on and on the eggman went.
Hemingway sucks. If I set out to write that way, it would have been been hollow and lifeless because it wasn't me.
... suicide gets in the air sometimes. Like a cold germ.
Semi-facetiously, when people ask me why I write these kinds of stories, I simply say that I was warped as a child. And, there is some truth to that.
An idea is like a cold germ: sooner or later someone always catches it.
She can't help it,' he said. 'She's got the soul of a poet and the emotional makeup of a junkyard dog.