I did spend years as an addict, so I know that world, although I wish I didn’t.
True sorrow is as rare as true love.
Time apparently did nothing but blunt grief’s sharpest edge so that it hacked rather than sliced.
Each life makes its own immitation of immortality.
Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke and a story’s just a story.
If we don’t have each other, we go crazy with loneliness. When we do, we go crazy with togetherness.
There’s a saying – “Write what you know.” It’s bad advice if you take it as an unbreakable rule, but good advice if you use it as a foundation.
Life was such a wheel that no man could stand upon it for long. And it always, at the end, came round to the same place again.
If you don’t control your temper, your temper will control you.
I like to end stories where the readers have a little room to run. They can resolve things as they like in their own mind.
The brain is a muscle that can move the world.
You could not turn off love- even the rather absent, sometimes taken for granted love- the way you’d turn off a faucet. Love ran from the heart and the heart had it’s own imperatives.
I wanted to write a balls-to-the-wall supernatural horror story, something I haven’t done in a long time.
When all else fails, give up and go to the library.
And in real life endings aren’t always neat, whether they’re happy endings, or whether they’re sad endings.
We never cease wanting what we want, whether it’s good for us or not.
But I believe in love, you know; love is a uniquely portable magic. I don’t think it’s in the stars, but I do believe that blood calls to blood and mind calls to mind and heart to heart.
It’s strange how pain marks our faces, and makes us look like family.
You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.
Some things were better lost than found.