I've eaten a bag of Green apples. Boarded the train, there's no getting off

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

I laid my face to the smooth face of the marble and howled my loss into the cold salt rain.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.

Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.