Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

Antoine St. Exupery once mourned the loss of a man and the secret treasures that he held inside him. I loved Exupery; I will read him again, and he will talk to me, not being dead, or gone. Is that life after death — mind living on paper and flesh living in offspring? Maybe. I do not know.

If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.

The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.

I said: I must remember this, being small.

I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn’t taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallowers’ sword and made me feel powerful and godlike.

Opinions are like orgasms...mine matters most and I really don't care if you have one.