... as we travel again between life and death, Waking and dream, blinking, while layers within layers,None better, none worse, unravel and knit up before us . . .
Get me outa here. F*ckin' creepy cheerleaders.
Because there's no way on earth she's going to make it through college unless she grows some serious ovaries and turns this train wreck around
At first he didn't know where he was, whose voice it was. He must have been asleep. And waking suddenly, like that, you woke in a thousand different places that you'd never been.
A novelist's characters must be with him as he lies down to sleep, and as he wakes from his dreams. He must learn to hate them and to love them.
Why can I never go back to bed? Who's is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?
Carrie doesn't seem to talk about anything with sharp edges. Maybe she's afraid they might poke her and then she'd burst.