There Are So Many Days

Writers Are Desperate People And When They Stop Being Desperate They Stop Being Writers.

They Never Pay The Slaves Enough So They Can Get Free, Just Enough So They Can Stay Alive And Come Back To Work.

There Was Nothing Glorious About The Life Of A Drinker Or The Life Of A Writer.

I'm Going, She Said. I Love You But You're Crazy, You're Doomed.

Pain Is Strange. A Cat Killing A Bird, A Car Accident, A Fire.... Pain Arrives, Bang, And There It Is, It Sits On You. It's Real. And To Anybody Watching, You Look Foolish. Like You've Suddenly Become An Idiot. There's No Cure For It Unless You Know Somebody Who Understands How You Feel, And Knows How To Help.