Quotes from Mark Z. Danielewski

This is ridiculous. I don't belong here. No one belongs here.

We all create stories to protect ourselves

with very little to remind them of themselves or their past or even their tomorrows . . .

which is another story, another place I'm here to avoid, as I'm certain there are places you too have sought to avoid.

But, oh my god, look what's happened.

I suppose I could call her . . . but for some reason these days dialing seven let alone eleven numbers feels like an infinite stretch. The phone's right in front of me but it's out of reach. When it rings at four AM I don't answer it. All I have to do is extend my hand but I can't run that far. Sleep never really arrives. Not even rest. There's no satisfaction anymore.

This is not fun. This isn't fair.

It's too bad. I love her. I wish it didn't have to turn out like this.

despite rational objections, technology's failure is overrun by the onslaught of myth.

Confining us to the comforts of a well-lit home gives our varied imaginations a chance to fill the adjacent darkness with questions and demons.

He wished he would of lived a little differently.

If Sorrow is deep regret over someone loved , there is nothing but regret here

Though if he did say it no one there ever heard him.

God for all intents and purposes is an equal sign, and at least up until now, something humanity has always been able to believe in is that universe adds up

I shouldn't be surprised . . . This is Tom. This is what Tom does best. He lets you down.

reminding him of the years he missed.

Divinity seems definid by echo. (...) The reason for that is not too complex. An echo, while implying an enormity of a space, at the same time also defines it, limits it, and even temporarily inhabits it.

I'd thrown everyone's number out. Nothing could be done. I was gone from everyone.

But it feels like the hinges must have finally failed, whatever was trying to get in, at last succeeding, instantly tearing into me, and though I'm still conscious, slashing my throat with those long fingers and ripping my ribs out one by one with its brutal jaws.

When the answers arrive the questions are already lost.

Strange how clarity can come at such a time and place, so unexpectedly, so out of the blue, though who's firing the bolt?

One sinking ship after another, in fact that was the conclusion to every single story he told, so that we, his strange audience, learned not to wonder about the end but paid more attention to the tale preceding the end, those distinguishing events before the inevitable rush of icy water, whirlpools . . .

especially when you're the one pursued by the inevitable ending.

Shy from the sky. No answer lies there. It cannot care, especially for what it no longer knows. Treat that place as a thing unto itself, independent of all else, and confront it on those terms. You alone must find the way. No one else can help you. Every way is different. And if you do lose yourself at least take solace in the absolute certainty that you will perish