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There was nothing … and nothing … and then the car bumped up again. There was a muffled pop, the sound of a small pumpkin exploding in a microwave ove...more

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Some part of me knew from the first that what I wanted was not reality but myth.

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Fiction is the truth inside a lie.

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I have seen many cases like N. during the five years I've been in practice. I sometimes picture these unfortunates as men and women being pecked to de...more

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It is completely raw, the sort of thing I feel free to do with the door shut—it’s the story undressed, standing up in nothing but its socks and unders...more

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The heart also knows things, and so does the imagination. Thank God. If not for heart and imagination, the world of fiction would be a pretty seedy pl...more

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Bad writing is more than a matter of shit syntax and faulty observation; bad writing usually arises from a stubborn refusal to tell stories about what...more

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the man in black travels with your soul in his pocket.

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They were close to the end of the beginning . . .

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They had discovered one could grow as hungry for light as for food.

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Once again there was the desert, and that only.

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...and still the hands did their trick, like over-eager dogs that want to do their rolling—over trick for you not once or twice but all night.

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The trap had a ghastly perfection

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The woman who preaches has poison religion. Let the respectable ones go

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There was murder, there was rape, there were unspeakable practices, and all of them were for the good, the bloody good, the bloody myth, for the grail...more