What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?

Why don't we all just go crazy when we know were going to croak? Because the mind's a monkey. You put things in departments and you go ahead. You go on and plan for the future and assume that the future's going to work out okay. Yet we know that sooner or later we're all going to be eating worms, whether it's fifty years or sixty. It might be tomorrow. It might happen today.

We never know which lives we influence, or when, or why.

And if you are honest about the words coming out of your characters' mouths, you'll find that you've let yourself in for a fair amount of criticism.

I write about rats because they scare the hell out of me. I think we tend to write out our phobias.

People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk.

Like the man said, a little hope never hurt anybody