The memory is like orbiting twin stars, one visible, one dark, the trajectory of what's evident forever affected by the gravity of what's concealed.

Lying contains the same hostile elements as a practical joke in that the 'victim' ends up looking foolish in his own eyes and laughable in everyone else's.

You try to keep life simple but it never works, and in the end all you have left is yourself.

Sometimes being fooled by love is worth the price. At least you know you're alive and capable of feeling, even if all you end up with is chest pain.

Everything happens for a reason, but that doesn't mean there's a point.

I started writing seriously when I was 18, wrote my first novel when I was 22, and I've never stopped writing since.

To many women mistake a man's hostility for wit and his silence for depth.