Subtract for the cigarettes, the bourbon, the sleepless nights.
His mouth hardens whenever their son’s name is mentioned.
The dead children were wheeled away, covered with white sheets.
Beyond the glib off-white palisades lies the answer to an urban dream.
Why does she do it? She knows cutting yourself is a joke. Goth, idiotic.
I hate it here, but I’ll make the best of it, because that’s what mothers do.
I was all alone in a little room, nothing but that big gun in my face.
Am I here without me just as I was before when stars spoke.
There are the short and decisive words: yes, no, now, never, love, death, poetry.
Your intelligence and charisma would serve you well in life.
We couldn’t tell which of us was a girl or a boy we gorged on dirt.
How’s everything? It’s been forever! Things with me are pretty good.
Reviewers are curs and their opinions are not to be taken seriously.
It holds a place in my heart: Never forget the suspenders.
You can get anyone to sleep with you—if you want it bad enough.
To see—and to see properly—is the writer’s central responsibility.
Our lives are often shaped by small, seemingly trivial choices.
I worry that I will be kidnapped by my cab driver and driven to an ATM.
Needless to say, when it was my night to read I was beyond terrified.
Getting answers is easy. The difficult thing is knowing the right questions.
My advice can be succinctly expressed in three words: Persist, persist, persist!
Writing is a subversive activity that exempts you from the rules.
Truths don’t eclipse each other—they only complicate each other.
It was the sixties, and I was in college and incredibly restless.
I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.