I Just Come Up With The Stories

I Held My Crotch, Closed My Eyes And Repeated My Secret Catechism.

The Point Is, There Is No Feasible Excuse For What Are, For What We Have Made Of Ourselves. We Have Chosen To Put Profits Before People, Money Before Morality, Dividends Before Decency, Fanaticism Before Fairness, And Our Own Trivial Comforts Before The Unspeakable Agonies Of Others

I Just Took [my Cancer Diagnosis] As Bad Luck, Basically. It Did Strike Me Almost Immediately, My Atheist Sort Of Thing Kicked In And I Thought "ha, If I Was A God-botherer, I'd Be Thinking, Why Me God? What Have I Done To Deserve This?" And I Thought At Least I'm Free Of That, At Least I Can Simply Treat It As Bad Luck And Get On With It.

The Trouble With Writing Fiction Is That It Has To Make Sense, Whereas Real Life Doesn't.

I'm An Only Child So Am Happy With My Own Company And I Don't Really Get Lonely.