Most Novels I Come Across Have All

Professional Southerners Sicken Me.

I Thought I Was Writing For A Fairly Hip, Intelligent Crowd; I Just Thought There Were More Of Them Out There. But They're Not. They're Not Out There Waiting. They're Not Gonna Use Their Intelligence On Your Book.

The Wild Stuff Is All So Overrated. Drinking, You Don't Feel Good All The Time. There's A Lot Of Down, A Lot Of Misery.

I Wake My Wife Up At 3 A.m. And Say, "listen To This!"

Where Is The Angry Machine Of All Of Us? Why Is God Such A Blurred Magician? Why Are You Begging For Your Life If You Believe Those Things? Prove To Me That You’re Better Than The Rabbits We Ate Last Night.