The man with the most guns survives the zombie apocalypse, but the man with the most books, locks the door and forgets it ever happened.

Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake?

The most formidable adversary of evil is a persistent man with a loud conscience.

I don't imagine book elitists as my audience when writing. I dream about teachers, morticians and garbage men instead.

Non fiction? Non fiction?! Listen, reality is what got me into this mess in the first place.

We may think of ourselves as static anti-heroes, but in reality we're dynamic protagonists just waiting for our courage to kick in.

I don't remember ever signing up for weird. It just sort of happened.

The best horror novels open up, "It was beautiful summer day and the smell of flowers emanated throughout the air.

A good editor can make a respectable writer remarkable, just like a good parent helps a child become amazing.

Never give your opinion on someone's writing unless they ask sincerely, and never ask for someone's opinion unless you're sincere.

Infinite knowledge, infinite vision, infinite energy of the Soul is in the same state even today. The Soul has never been a sinner. The Soul is absolutely pure.

For intuitive people, it can be exhausting having to constantly manage other people’s emotional needs on personal social media accounts.

Cause honey your soulcould never grow oldits evergreen

Women can never forgive me; they hate me, they feel that I am disarming them. I show them without their coquetry.

If you are picking the lesser of two evils, you are still picking Evil.

You need to know that even as life develops in superficially disappointing ways, there is still fun to be had.

He seemed to be waiting for me to move forward. Weren't we all.

Dilemma of civilized man; body mobilized, but danger obscure.

The greatest legacy we can leave our children is happy memories.

Dreams, I thought. They're the riches of a poor person, stashed in treasure chests buried deeply in the imagination. But are dreams enough?