I Will Die Like A True-blue Rebel.

Horror Was Rooted In Sympathy . . . In Understanding What It Would Be Like To Suffer The Worst.

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

She Just Knew That Even When You Had Nothing, You Still Had Love.

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.

I'll Take The Shooting. I'm Used To That. I've Been Shot A Few Times In The Past, And I Guess I Can Stand It, Again.