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The concentration of the elite athlete is akin perhaps to the concentration of the writer.

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Neil Gaiman

There is a madness, yes, this is true. Few mortals possess it, the willingness to step away from the protection of sanity. To walk into the wild wood of madness. . .

Madness, Mortals, Steps, True, Wild, Woods
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Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.

Chasing, Like, Moving, Perfection, Writing

Dahling, when God put teeth in your mouth, he ruined a perfectly good arsehole.

Arseholes, God, Mouth, Perfectly, Perfectly Good, Teeth

Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. Truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.

Age, Like, Looks, Thoughtless, Whole, World

In a world where people die every day, I think the important thing to remember is that for each moment of sorrow we get when people leave this world there's a corresponding moment of joy when a new baby comes into this world. That first wail is-well, it's magic, isn't it? Perhaps it's a hard thing to say, but joy and sorrow are like milk and cookies. That's how well they go together. I think we should all take a moment to meditate on that.

Baby, Die, People, Sorrow, Thinking

I watched my life as if it were happening to someone else. My son died. And I was hurt, but I watched my hurt, and even relished it, a little, for now I could write a real death, a true loss. My heart was broken by my dark lady, and I wept, in my room, alone; but while I wept, somewhere inside I smiled.

Broken, Death, Hurt, Real, Write, Writing
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