Brilliantly, ecstatically, irrepressibly. This is the way to burn

I do not know why the dead do not come back to life. Perhaps death is so wonderful, in ways we cannot comprehend, that they prefer it over and above their friends and loved ones, although I am inclined to doubt that be the case.

Death is simple. Life is messy. Give me life, the more complicated the better.

When I sit down to write, I just let the goose out of the bottle.

The trouble with the fast lane is that all the movement is horizontal. And I like to go vertical sometimes.

I started writing when I was 5 years old. I would dictate stories to my mother, and she would copy them in a scrapbook. If she changed anything to make it, in her opinion, better, I would throw a tantrum.

Maybe most people were fundamentally contradictory. The real people at any rate.