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I believe in my writing.
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I suffer from Irish-Catholic guilt. Guilt is a good reality check. It keeps that ‘do what makes you happy’ thing in check.
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O Lord, grant that I may do Thy will as if it were my will, so that Thou mayest do my will as if it were Thy will.
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Small jerks began to appear in my legs, my walk became unsteady precisely because I wanted it to be smooth.
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More is spent in a single month [in the U.S.] fighting the war on drugs than all monies ever expended domestically or internationally fighting slavery from its inception. Per month, we spend more on the drug war than we ever have trying to free slaves.
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With luck, a writer capable of producing both Slouching Towards Kalamazoo and The Blood of the Lamb will not remain unappreciated for long.
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Naturally, I now love Jesus very much. Yes, I love him so damn much that I would like to crucify him all over again!
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I am continually embarrassed by people who point me out as an example of what can be done without training.
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I'm sorry; I ruin people's interviews because I just talk about rubbish.
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One develops an instinct for letting silence do the heavy lifting. In the three, four, five seconds that passed without either of us speaking, the many ways the conversation could go came and went like time-lapse film of flowers blooming and dying.
