“I figure a man's character is like his coat, Flinn. Nobody knows if it's any damn good or not, until he's been a few days out in the rain.”

“The writer is a kind of hawk; he goes round in the skies, constantly looking with his sharp eyes for the character that he can pick up with his claws. Sometimes he goes round hungry for a week, he cannot catch any characters; and sometimes characters rain on him like heavy rain.”

“Michael was still an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, coated in yum. Only now the enigma was a little less mysterious; I was a few clues closer to solving the riddle - but damn, that man would always be coated in yum.”

“You and me?” I let out a stunned bark of laughter. “There is no you and me.”“That’s what you think,” Chaz says, tugging on his coat. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around until you figure out that isn’t true.”“Fine,” I say “I’m not asking you to, am I?”“No.” Chaz is smiling… but not like he’s happy. “But you would if you had the slightest idea what was good for you.”And with that, he yanks open the door and storms through it, slamming it closed behind him with enough force to cause the windowpanes to rattle.And then he’s gone.”

“The more words, the more vanity, and what is man the better? For who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow? For who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun?”

“Just wait until he figures out I shut him out of his slut hut.”