If you do not love yourself, your daughters will struggle to love themselves.
Sometimes I manage to forget the Gaiman Incident. (I was virtually out of my mind when it happened.) So it’s easy to forget. (Like the things that you did before you blacked out at that New Years Eve party.) I mean, what insane person would do something like that?
That stuff is gold to me: the random firings of my imagination, collected on paper for the last 27 years. Absolute gold.
My general feeling about sandwiches that attempt to put 12 kinds of meat together is that it’s something akin to polygamy: it seems like a great idea at the beginning but it’s way more complicated in actuality.
When the hell did telling the world a story go from, I don’t know, telling a story, to: SELL YOUR SOUL AND GET YOURSELF AN AUDIENCE?