“Because I know what it's like to pour your heart and soul into a book, day after day after day, when it comes to the work of other authors, I either give them five stars -- or say nothing! I simply can't bring myself to do anything else.”

“We, and I think I'm speaking for many writers, don't know what it is that sometimes comes to make our books alive. All we can do is write dutifully and day after day, every day, giving our work the very best of what we are capable. I don't that we can consciously put the magic in; it doesn't work that way. When the magic comes, it's a gift.”

“Have you worked here long?" Sebastian asks.Just a few months," I say. "Do you come here a lot?" As if you don't know, Jade.I used to come every day, or, you know, when I could, I'd bring Bo after work. Or just myself."At night sometimes. You'd climb the fence. You'd watch the stars. You'd tilt back your head and look at the sky.You'd think it over, whatever it was.”

“[T]here is nothing worse than doing what you don't want to do, day after day, to little renummeration or applause. It's the death of your soul.”

“i give myself five days to forget you.on the first day i rust.on the second i wilt.on the third day i sit with friends but i think about your tongue.i clean my room on the fourth day. i clean my body on the fourth day.i try to replace your scent on the fourth day. the fifth day, i adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate.a wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.the midas of cheap metal.tinsel in the middle of summer.crevice glitter, two days after the party.i glow the way unwanted things do,a neon sign that reads;come, i still taste like someone else’s mouth.”

“This is what one thirsts for, I realize, after the smallness of the day, of work, of details, of intimacy - even of communication, one thirsts for the magnitude and universality of a night full of stars, pouring into one like a fresh tide.”