“These weird thoughts come into my head, and I don't even really want to think about it, but I can't let go of it until I take it as far as I can, until I reach some kind of ending, and then I can move on. That's what writing is like for me.”

“I don't think I can keep looking at this stuff, Buster," she informed him, handing the camera to her brother. "It makes me want to drink either more alcohol or none, and I can't imagine either possibility.”

“I don't know what I'm saying, really, but I guess it's like having a kid, though I don't have any kids. It's yours, you made it, and no matter what happens, you have that pride of ownership. You love it, even it it didn't amount to much.”

“What do you think I'm going to do?" she asked him. "Whatever it is," he answered, "I think you'll be terrified when it happens. Don't let that stop you.”

“Up to this point, all I knew were beaten paths, tattooed with footprints, and I had come to the understanding that they were not much fun to travel because so many people were waiting for you at the end, wondering what took you so long.”

“I understand that art is a necessary component of a civilized society, but you cannot just go around shooting people. That's going to be a problem.”

“What you'll find, I think, is that the things you most want to avoid are the things that make you feel the greatest when you actually do them.”