There are choices$$$ she thought$$$ when she had sat long enough. "There are always choices."

I must confess$$$ I have always wondered what lay beyond life$$$ my dear.<br/>"Yeah$$$ everybody wonders. And sooner or later everybody gets to find out."

Where does contagion end and art begin?

Is there any person in the world who does not dream? Who does not contain within them worlds unimagined?

Chicago happened slowly$$$ like a migraine.

I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks youre wonderful$$$ and dont forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can.

There must be a Hell. A place for demons. A place for the damned. Hell is Heaven's reflection. Heaven's shadow. They define each other. There must be a Hell for without Hell$$$ Heaven has no meaning.

Being a writer of fiction isn't like being a compulsive liar$$$ honestly.

I sat in the dark and thought: There's no big apocalypse. Just an endless procession of little ones.

People take on the shapes of the songs and the stories that surround them$$$ especially if they don't have their own song.