I Mean, When You're Tired

About As Close You Can Get To The Perfect Cerebral Thriller: Searingly Smart, Ridiculously Funny, And Fast As Hell... I Defy Anybody To Read The First Page And Not Keep Going To The Last.

Wasn't There A Spell For Making Yourself Happy? Somebody Must Have Invented One. How Could He Have Missed It? Why Didn't They Teach It? Was It In The Library, A Flying Book Fluttering Just Out Of Reach, Beating Its Wings Against Some High Window?

There Is Really No End To Life's Little Humiliations.

It's Very Important, At Least To Me As A Writer, That There Be Some Rules On The Table When I'm Writing. Rules Come From Genres. You're Writing In A Genre, There Are Rules, Which Is Great Because Then You Can Break The Rules. That's When Really Exciting Things Happen.

That’s What Death Did, It Treated You Like A Child, Like Everything You Had Ever Thought And Done And Cared About Was Just A Child’s Game, To Be Crumpled Up And Thrown Away When It Was Over. It Didn’t Matter. Death Didn’t Respect You. Death Thought You Were Bullshit, And It Wanted To Make Sure You Knew It.