I do not feel I have a legacy to protect.
It’s like my characters, all my men are Dad and me in a mess; all my female characters are smart and hopeful, like Mom just trying to make the best of things.
I think we’ve all lost some kind of feeling.
Fear never shows up and the party ends early.
No one will ever know anyone. We just have to deal with each other. You’re not ever gonna know me.
Every book for me is an exorcism in some way or another, working through my feelings at the time.
I feel I’m moving toward as well as away from something, and anything is possible.
When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking.
A child should never even think about being a “good son.” A parent decides that fate for the child. The parent encourages that. Not the child himself. And the “perfect dad”? I shudder at thinking what that may be.
The numbing lists of things you were supposed to have as an American to make you happy, which ultimately, of course, don’t. Those aren’t the things that make you happy.
How could she ever understand that there isn’t any way could be disappointed since I no longer find anything worth looking forward to?
Adjust my dreams for me.
I laugh maniacally, then take a deep breath and touch my chest- expecting a heart to be thumping quickly, impatiently, but there’s nothing there, not even a beat.
I’ve forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.
What does that mean know me, know me, nobody ever knows anybody else, ever! You will never know me.
Yes. Yes I am. I am a completely demented misogynist.
I like to dissect girls. Did you know I’m utterly insane?
I’m into, oh murders and executions mostly. It depends.
And it struck me then, that I liked Sean because he looked, well, slutty. A boy who had been around. A boy who couldn’t remember if he was Catholic or not.
I’ve been accused of being very vain about my apathy.