Nothing Can Save You Except Writing. It

When You Clean Up A City, You Destroy It.

Take A Writer Away From His Typewriter And All You Have Left Is The Sickness Which Started Him Typing In The Beginning

My Beerdrunk Soul Is Sadder Than All The Dead Christmas Trees Of The World.

Writing About A Writer's Block Is Better Than Not Writing At All

It Was Too Much. The Comfortable People Made Comfortable Jokes About Weather And Things But I Sat Mostly Silent Saying A Word Or So When Necessary A Word Or So Trying To Hide From Them The Fact That I Was A Fool And Feeling Terrible And I Was Numb, Numb Again, Numb Again Again And Again, Numbness And Pain Swelling In Me.