I Find People Confusing.

Most Murders Are Committed By Someone Who Is Known To The Victim. In Fact, You Are Most Likely To Be Murdered By A Member Of Your Own Family On Christmas Day.

I Think Most Writers Feel Like They're On The Outside Looking In Much Of The Time... All Of Us Feel, To A Certain Extent, Alienated From The Stuff Going On Around Us.

I Knew There Was A Story; Once You Find A Dog With A Fork Through It, You Know There's A Story There.

At Teenage Parties He Was Always Wandering Into The Garden, Sitting On A Bench In The Dark . . . Staring Up At The Constellations And Pondering All Those Big Questions About The Existence Of God And The Nature Of Evil And The Mystery Of Death, Questions Which Seemed More Important Than Anything Else In The Would Until A Few Years Passed And Some Real Questions Had Been Dumped Into Your Lap, Like How To Earn A Living, And Why People Fell In And Out Of Love, And How Long You Could Carry On Smoking And Then Give Up Without Getting Lung Cancer.

It Wasn't About Believing This Or That, It Wasn't Even About Good And Evil And Right And Wrong, It Was About Finding The Strength To Bear The Discomfort That Came With Being In The World.