I Could Stay Living In

You Do Not Write A Novel For Praise, Or Thinking Of Your Audience. You Write For Yourself; You Work Out Between You And Your Pen The Things That Intrigue You

There’s No Grand Plan. All I Know Is That I Write The Books I Want To Write. All That Other Stuff Is Meaningless To Me.

There’s No Use In Denying It: This Has Been A Bad Week. I’ve Started Drinking My Own Urine.

I've Been Accused Of Being Very Vain About My Apathy.

I Had All The Characteristics Of A Human Being—flesh, Blood, Skin, Hair—but My Depersonalization Was So Intense, Had Gone So Deep, That My Normal Ability To Feel Compassion Had Been Eradicated, The Victim Of A Slow, Purposeful Erasure. I Was Simply Imitating Reality, A Rough Resemblance Of A Human Being, With Only A Dim Corner Of My Mind Functioning