For an author, the nice characters aren't much fun. What you want are the screwed up characters. You know, the characters that are constantly wondering if what they are doing is the right thing, characters that are not only screwed up but are self-tapping screws. They're doing it for themselves.

-Oh yes? Can you identify yourself? -Certainly. I'd know me anywhere.

Somewhere around the place I've got an unfinished short story about Schrodinger's Dog; it was mostly moaning about all the attention the cat was getting.

Never trust any complicated cocktail that remains perfectly clear until the last ingredient goes in, and then immediately clouds.

People couldn't become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked.

It was sad, like those businessmen who came to work in serious clothes but wore colorful ties in a mad, desperate attempt to show there was a free spirit in there somewhere.

I don't see what's so triffic about creating people as people and then gettin' upset 'cos they act like people.