Artists Are Meant To Be Madmen, To

… In The Relentless And Meaningless Manner One Searches For Something In A Nightmare, Coming On Doors That Won’t Open Or Drawers That Won’t Shut, Struggling Over And Over Against The Same Meaningless Thing, Not Knowing Why The Effort Seems So Desperate, Why The Sudden Sight Of A Chair With A Shawl Thrown Over It Inspires The Mind With Horror.

Maybe That's What Hell Is. You Go Mad. And All Your Demons Come And Get You Just As Fast As You Can Think Them Up.

My Heart Right Now Is Totally Connected To A Book Called The Servant Of The Bones, Which Is Not In Any Way Connected With Vampires Or Witches. It's About A New Hero, A Ghost, Who Really Doesn't Particularly Like The Job That He's Been Given. I'm In Love With This Hero And In Love With His Dilemma.

First-person Narrators Is The Way I Know How To Write A Book With The Greatest Power And Chance Of Artistic Success.

I Was At A Loss Suddenly; But Conscious All The While Of How Armand Listened; That He Listened In The Way That We Dream Of Others Listening, His Face Seeming To Reflect On Every Thing Said. He Did Not Start Forward To Seize On My Slightest Pause, To Assert An Understanding Of Something Before The Thought Was Finished, Or To Argue With A Swift, Irresistible Impulse -- The Things Which Often Make Dialogue Impossible. And After A Long Interval He Said, 'i Want You. I Want You More Than Anything In The World.