Quotes About Author

Okay, obviously I didn't die or I wouldn't be able to relate this tender little narrative. Unless, of course, I'm a ghost, writing these words through an Ouija board. That would be pretty cool, but also incredibly time consuming, and the human I was channeling through would probably try to steal all the credit.

Stanley and Martin sat in the interrogation room across from Veronica and a lawyer named Bloodsucking Bastard.

I sat in our bedroom reading a horror novel called Whose Heart is in My Popcorn? Characterization was a bit thin, but boy could that woman write dismemberments.

I threw up twice more during the process, turning away so that I wouldn't vomit right on him, a courtesy I couldn't quite explain.

What a nutzo way to die, huh? Not that it's a competition, but my demise is going to be far more spectacular than my wife's.

I didn't much want to listen to constructive criticism from somebody whose decision making process so far seemed to be "What can I do that's more insane than the last thing I did?

Is someone in my tree?" I fought panic, and through Herculean effort managed to keep my pants dry. "No," I answered. She wasn't fooled.

Tug tended fire which cook him," said Gorp. "Cruel irony.

I apologize from distracting you from reading my books.

Which ones are silver?" "The ones colored silver." As a rule, George didn't hit old ladies, though it was a rule for which he was momentarily inclined to try to find a loophole.

I do believe very much in the idea of unexpected or 'convulsive' beauty - beauty in the service of liberty.

The stories he told became boring to me through repetition, but I understand now that he was just trying to fix that place with the compass of his memories.

No doubt the detour to deliver Lake had made the sheep late for an appointment.

Control said nothing, had said nothing for quite some time, as if he didn't trust words anymore. Or had begun to cherish the answers silence gave him.

Thank you for your service, for your many years. Now take your weird art and get the fuck out.

Without context, clinging to those numbers was a form of madness.

There was a tear in the sleeve of her blouse. Her pink nail polish had chipped. Details were escaping her. I sympathized.

Perhaps, too, hesitance overtakes me because when I think of writing I glimpse the world I left behind.

I dearly wished the joy of triangulation, the pounce based on a good ear's geometry.

precision in gardens was too much like turning a wolf on the prowl into a pug with an embroidered ruffle for a collar. She much preferred the wolf.

holy scripture was believed to justify her subordination and explain her inferiority; for even as a copy she was not a very good copy. There were differences. She was not one of His best efforts. There is a line in an old folk song that runs: 'I called my donkey a

as a copy she was not a very good copy. There were differences. She was not one of His best efforts. There is a line in an old folk song that runs: 'I called my donkey

the truth is that almost anyone will be pulled into care taking behaviors when interacting with the NPD person.

Isabel! ¿Para quién bailas? ¡Pareces una loca!