Write The Unpublishable.. .and Then Publish It.

The First Kiss Plummeted Him Down A Hole And Popped Him Out Into A World He Thought He Could Get Along In—as If He’d Been Pulling Hard The Wrong Way And Was Now Turned Around Headed Downstream.

You're Under Pressure When You Produce Facts. You're Working With Facts In Journalism, But You're Under All Kinds Of Formal Constraints; There Are Expectations.

Everybody’s Got A Mean Side. Just Don’t Feed It Till It Grows.

How Could I Do It, How Could A Person Go That Low? And I Understand Your Question, To Which I Reply, Are You Kidding? That's Nothing. I'd Been Much Lower Than That. And I Expected To See Myself Do Worse.

The Traveling Salesmen Fed Me Pills That Made The Lining Of My Veins Feel Scraped Out, My Jaw Ached... I Knew Every Raindrop By Its Name, I Sensed Everything Before It Happened. Like I Knew A Certain Oldsmobile Would Stop Even Before It Slowed, And By The Sweet Voices Of The Family Inside, I Knew We'd Have An Accident In The Rain. I Didn't Care. They Said They'd Take Me All The Way.