Or Maybe They Were Just Doing It

Few Human Beings Give Of Themselves To Another As A Dog Gives Of Itself.

No One Can Genuinely Love The World, Which Is Too Large To Love Entire. To Love All The World At Once Is Pretense Or Dangerous Self-delusion. Loving The World Is Like Loving The Idea Of Love, Which Is Perilous Because, Feeling Virtuous About This Grand Affection, You Are Freed From The Struggles And The Duties That Come With Loving People As Individuals.

I Don't Find Slashing And Blood Flying Everywhere To Be Scary. I Just Find It Repulsive.

If I Drive Myself To The Brink Of My Ability, Then I Don't Get Stale Or Bored.

But Once An Idea For A Novel Seizes A Writer...well, It’s Like An Inner Fire That At First Warms You And Makes You Feel Good But Then Begins To Eat You Alive, Burn You Up From Within. You Can’t Just Walk Away From The Fire; It Keeps Burning. The Only Way To Put It Out Is To Write The Book.