My dad told me that no one could ever make it as a writer, that my chances were equivalent to winning the lottery – which was good for me, because I like to have something to prove.
Why bother? I was right all along: the second you make yourself vulnerable to someone, they start drawing blood.
And I can’t think of a reason I’d ever use a pseudonym, as I wouldn’t want to publish something that I didn’t like enough to put my name on it.
Celebrities, even insignificant ones like me, are created to be abused by the Great Unwashed.
In the Netherlands I read the first chapter of Exquisite Corpse to an audience that laughed in all the places I thought were funny – an experience I’ve never had in America!
New Orleans cuisine is Creole rather than Cajun.
My childhood may have been more demented than most, because I learned to read very early and was allowed to read whatever I wanted.
Ive tried to avoid labels, but they always find you.
Some of the food in Liquor is food I’ve really eaten filtered through a veil of fiction.
At some point you have to start letting people save their own life.
And what was I if not death’s ghostwriter?
No”, said a voice from the dark doorway. A weary voice, a voice for speaking long after midnight, a voice to be used when all paths are blocked, when castles have fallen to ruins, when morning will not come again.
But if I die without trying again, I’m a coward. I don’t mind having regrets about stuff I’ve done. It’s the regrets about stuff I haven’t done that bother me.
Ah, relationships. If he was lucky, Luke thought, he would never have another one.
Atheists loved to use that term to describe some shadowy force that somehow controlled human destiny, but what the hell did they think the universe was? Did they think the stars and nebulae took an interest in their doings, and if they really meant God, why couldn’t they just say so?
I press my hands against my chest, wishing I could somehow be even closer to him. I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.
I just want to know how you’re made,” Trevor breathed in his ear. “I love you so much, Zach. I want to climb inside you. I want to taste your brain. I want to feel your heart beating in my hands.
Yielding flesh in his hands, hot with fear, sticky with sweat and blood and already smelling of heaven. Helpless bones his to crack, helpless skin his to rip open, sweet red river his to drink from. He had to do it. He had to know. With his eyes and his hands, with all his body, he had to see.
Let the night come. We are not afraid.
AS WE THINK, SO WE ARE;.