Later

You get used to marvelous things. You take them for granted. You can try not to, but you do. There’s too much wonder, that’s all. It’s everywhere.

As I said at the beginning, this is a horror story.

Tell you what, the worst part of growing up is how it shuts you up.

Looking back on it, I sometimes think my life was like a Dickens novel, only with swearing.

Smart people know a lot, and maybe that makes them think they know everything.

If we have free will, then you have to invite evil in.

Belief is a high hurdle to get over and I think it’s even higher for smart people. Smart people know a lot, and maybe that makes them think they know everything.

I tell you what, there’s nothing like having a mother around when you’re thinking of scary shit.

There’s always a later, I know that now. At least until we die. Then I guess it’s all before that.

if you try to outrun your own shadow, you’re bound to fall on your face.

I thought of asking her if it freaked her out to look up at night and see the stars and know they go on forever and ever, but didn't bother. I just said no. You get used to marvelous things. You take them for granted. You can try not to, but you do. There's too much wonder, that's all. It's everywhere.

Older, taller, and maybe even wiser, but still that same person. We change, and we don’t. I can’t explain it. It’s a mystery.

I think only your mother can truly make you feel lower than whale shit.

He taught me a lot. But before the teaching, he listened.

I know more now, but I believe less.

Grits ain't groceries and revenge don't pay the bills.

He gave me a look combining reproach and impatience that he probably perfected in his teaching career.

You may beat the devil once—through providence, bravery, dumbass luck, or a combination of all—but not twice.

I think that people who say life is all about the choices we make and the roads we go down are full of shit. Because check it, stairs or elevator, we still would have come out on the third floor. When the fickle finger of fate points at you, all roads lead to the same place, that’s what I think. I may change my mind when I’m older, but I really don’t think so.

Later on I found out a whole lot of writers died at their desks. Must be a Type A occupation.

Oh, and he also called the telephone the telefungus. I liked that one so much I started using it myself. Still do.

And anybody who has to say they're not afraid is lying.

When the fickle finger of fate points at you, all roads lead to the same place, that’s what I think.

the worst part of growing up is how it shuts you up.

Even a little kid knows certain basic things if he’s not soft in the attic. You said please, you said thank you, you didn’t flap your weenie around in public or chew with your mouth open, and you didn’t talk to dead folks when they were standing next to living folks who were just starting to miss them. I only want to say, in my own defense, that when I saw her I didn’t know she was dead. Later on I got better at telling the difference, but back then I was just learning. It was her nightgown I could see through, not her. Dead people look just like living people, except they’re always wearing the clothes they died in.

Stop it,” my mother said. “I can’t afford to have you sulking.” “I’m not sulking,” I said sulkily.

it. I tell you what, there’s nothing like having a mother around when you’re thinking of scary shit.