Delirium: Um. What’s the name of the word for things not being the same always. You know. I’m sure there is one. Isn’t there? There must be a word for it… the thing that lets you know time is happenin...
Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.
And when things get tough, this is what you should do.Make good art.I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art...
And because nobody's done it before, they haven't made up rules to stop anyone doing that again, yet.
A click: the sound of a switchblade opening, empty, lonely and dark.
I don't think immediate tragedy is a very good source of art. It can be, but too often it's raw and painful and un-dealt-with. Sometimes art can be a really good escape from the intolerable, and a goo...
Set your fantasies in the here and now and then, if challenged, claim to be writing Magical Realism.
Stories may well be lies, but they are good lies that say true things, and which can sometimes pay the rent.
You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we're doing it.
You do your own time in prison. You don't do anyone else's time for them.
That feeling I get when I go looking in my head for a word that isn’t there, as if someone must have come and taken it in the night.
Moments were to be experienced; waiting was a sin against both the time that was still to come and the moments one was currently disregarding.
Being brave didn’t mean you weren’t scared. Being brave meant you were scared, really scared, badly scared, and you did the right thing anyway.
And then he looked her full in the face, and her heart leapt and sank, as the eyes the dangerous blue of the summer sky before a storm gazed back into hers.
Your turn in the chair next time, said October. I know, said November. He was pale and thin-lipped. He helped October out of the wooden chair. I like your stories. Mine are always too dark. I don’t th...
You're weird,' she said. 'You don't have any friends.''I didn't come here for friends,' said Bod truthfully. i came here to learn.'Mo's nose twitched. Do you know how weird that is?' she asked. Nobody...
You're alive...That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over....
You wouldn't die in here, nothing ever dies in here, but if you stayed here for too long, after a while just a little of you would exist everywhere, all spread out. And that's not a good thing. Never...
You seem all normal and quiet on the surface. But you are so much weirder than I am, and I am, extremely, fucking, weird.
You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.