It’s an artist’s job to show people the world they live in. We hold up mirrors.
It’s a way of talking about lust without talking about lust, he told them. It is a way of talking about sex, and fear of sex, and death, and fear of death, and what else is there to talk about?
It was a city in which the very old and the awkwardly new jostled each other, not uncomfortably, but without respect;
In May I received an anonymous Mother’s Day card. This puzzled me. I would have noticed if I had ever had children, surely?
Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.
I'm bored, she said.Learn how to tap-dance, he suggested, without turning around.
I would not wish to marry someone who had already been married. It would be,' she opined, 'like having someone else break in one's own pony.
I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance in the wreckage.
I know a charm that can cure pain and sickness, and lift the grief from the heart of the grieving.I know a charm that will heal with a touch.I know a charm that will turn aside the weapons of an enemy...
How can you be happy in this world? You have a hole in your heart. You have a gateway inside you to lands beyond the world you know. They will call you, as you grow. There can never be a time when you...
He shivered. His coat was thin, and it was obvious he would not get his kiss, which he found puzzling. The manly heroes of the penny dreadfuls and shilling novels never had these problems getting kiss...
For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel.
Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world...
Charitably... I think... sometimes, perhaps, one must change or die. And, in the end, there were, perhaps, limits to how much he could let himself change.
Can't say I've ever been too fond of beginnings, myself. Messy little things. Give me a good ending anytime. You know where you are with an ending.
Because people would have to remember books, if other people burn them or forget them. We will commit them to memory. We will become them. We become authors. We become their books.
Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.
I decided that a story was anything that I made up that kept the reader turning the pages or watching, and did not leave the reader or the viewer feeling cheated at the end.
My people, we stay indoors. We have keyboards. We have darkness.
~I hope that in this year to come, YOU make mistakes. Because if YOU are making mistakes, then YOU are making NEW things, trying NEW things, learning, living, pushing YOURself, changing YOURself, chan...