Most novelists write about twisted lives.

Bland writing - timid, antiseptic, vanilla writing - is nearly as unhealthy as the brutal and dark. Instead of sipping, say, elixir, nectar, tequila, or champagne, the reader is invited to slurp lumpy milk or choke on the author's dust bunnies.

Redheads are said to be children of the moon, thwarted by the sun and addicted to sex and sugar.

Alone, the world offers itself freely to us. To be unmasked, it has no choice.

I go into a gallery or museum, and I realize that I don't have to formulate any opinions if I don't want to. I don't have to think this thing through and write about it at any great length. I can think about it if I want to; if not, I can just walk out. So I can enjoy painting really a lot more than I could when I had that sort of pressure.

Now that I'm in love, I haven't a clue. Now that I'm in love, I'm completely stupid on the subject.

Normality is the Great Neurosis of civilization.