When You Think About It,

Gold Don't Come Off. What's Good Stays Good No Matter How Much Of A Beating It Takes.

He Understood That The Ghost Existed First And Foremost Within His Own Head. That Maybe Ghosts Always Haunted Minds, Not Places. If He Wanted To Take A Shot At It, He’d Have To Turn The Barrel Against His Own Temple.

She Liked Things That Had Been Written By People Who Had Lived Short, Ugly, And Tragic Lives. Or, Who At Least, Were English.

I Felt Like It Needed Some Color Down There, So I Painted The Walls With The Motherfucker.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.