“I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”

“I tell me:Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful.I want these words to be actions.Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night.”

“I love and hate this place because it is full of words.”

“I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out.”

“I've wandered through the real world, and written myself through the darkness of the streets inside me. I see people walking through the city and wonder where they've been, and what the moments of their lives have done to them. If they're anything like me, their moments have held them up and shot them down.Sometimes I just survive.But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.That's when the stories show up in me.They find me all the time.They're made of underdogs and fighters. They're made of hunger and desire and trying to live decent.The only trouble is, I don't know which of those stories comes first.Maybe they all just merge into one.We'll see, I guess.I'll let you know when I decide.”

“The thing is, I don't even hate cops. To tell you the truth, I actually feel a little sorry for them.”

“His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.”