“I have often believed the pen to be a needle, and ink to be a thread. Each story is an intricately woven tapestry and with each word I invariably sew a piece of myself into the page.”

“His whole life was a sham, a fairy tale. The truth hidden behind a wall of lies, each lie another brick in the wall until he probably couldn't see the truth anymore.”

“I don't want to have it all, I only want to have enough.”

“So you want to hear a story? Well, I used to know a whole lot of pretty interesting ones. Some of them so funny you'd laugh yourself unconscious, others so terrible you'd never want to repeat them. But I can't remember any of those. So I'll just tell you about the time I found that lost thing....”

“It is hundreds of tiny threads of memories, which sew people together through the years. Despite, their mental separation they stay woven into that tapestry out of habit, emotion, obsession or fear.”

“I push through the crowd and draw even nearer, so near I can smell him. So near I could touch him. I could take his hand, twist it just so and force him to his knees in an instant. He would never see it coming. He would barely know what happened. ~This”

“Why do I always listen to your insane plans? Why aren't we at home watching TV like everyone else? What possible difference will any of this make?”