In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.

A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.

Between the wolf in the tall grass and the wolf in the tall story there is a shimmering go-between. That go-between, that prism, is the art of literature.

Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.

She was like Marat only with nobody to kill her.

Life is short. From here to that old car you know so well there is a stretch of twenty, twenty-five paces. It is a very short walk. Make those twenty-five steps. Now. Right now. Come just as you are. And we shall live happily ever after.

Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing... I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius.