“It’s 4am again and I’m just getting started. People are boring and I want to burn with excitement or anger and bleed, bleed through my words. I want to get all fucked up and write real and raw and ugly and beautifully. I bet you’re sleeping safe and calm, and you can stay there, it’s safer there, and you wouldn’t stand one night on this journey my mind wanders off to every night you close your eyes. I’ll stay here one day and I will never come down. I promise I can fly before I hit the ground. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. I swear, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don’t love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.”

“For any writer who wants to keep a journal, be alive to everything, not just to what you’re feeling, but also to your pets, to flowers, to what you’re reading.”

“Isn’t it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess what the writing on them will be.”

“Always carry a notebook. And I mean always. The short-term memory only retains information for three minutes; unless it is committed to paper you can lose an idea for ever.”