Co-writing. Man, just the word. I always thought it would be as intimate as sex and as serious as marriage. You'd come to each other committed but with no clue what to expect. You'd both lay down your tender ugly first-draft words and sounds, full of humiliating dents and bruises, and she'd see every part of your process as you sweated and chopped and swore your way to something plausibly songlike.

I am one man with a laptop. When I give the world my characters, it's because I don't want to keep them for myself. You don't like what I made them do? Fucking tell me I'm wrong! Rewrite the story. Throw in a new plot twist. Make up your own ending.

Keep smiling, I tell myself. It's all good. That's what my wrist tattoo says and you only ink permanent words on your person if you plan to live by them.

You can stop waiting, you know,' she says. 'For what?' 'For God to strike you down.

I've never seen a naked torso that wasn't on a cross, at least not so close up. I don't know where to look. His belly button. Belly button. Look at the belly button.

Time flies when you're fulfilling your ambitions in a completely unexpected way.

Nothing's better for art than a little old-fashioned suffering.

The threat of failure shouldn't kill the fun of dreaming.

The way she says kiss, it sounds different. Like she invented the word specifically for the song.

I want you back because... I like being with you more than anyone else. And because when I make you laugh I feel like the coolest person on the planet. And because we get each other in like, every possible way, and you don't know that's a huge deal until you grow up and meet a fuckload of people and you realize how rare that is.