“For the first time in memory, I was unable to sleep not because I was anxious but because I was excited. To live in a damp crowded asshole and sing--if these guys don't know the secret to living, I don't know who does. (The Grieving Owl, page 157)”

“Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. SIng me to sleep, sing me to sleep, and then leave me alone. Don't try to wake me in the morning because I will be gone. Don't feel bad for me. I want you to know, deep in the cell of my heart, I will feel so glad to go.”

“I don't sing because I'm happy. I'm happy because I sing.”

“I don't know what I was expecting.Maybe I thought I'd catch him trying to break a hole in the wall or maybe he'd be plotting the demise of every person at Omega Point or I don't know I don't know I don't know anything because I only know how to fight an angry body, an insolent creature, an arrogant monster, and I do not know what to do with this. He's sleeping.”

“It was like the first time I visited Versailles. There was an eerieness, like I'd been there before. I don't know if I was Louis XIV or Marie Antoinette or a lowly groundskeeper, but I lived there.”

“Living "in" a story, being part of a narrative, is much more satisfying than living without one. I don't always know what narrative it is, because I'm living my life and not always reflecting on it, but as I edit these pages I am aware that I have an urge to see my sometimes random wandering as having a plot, a purpose guided by some underlying story. ”