His nostrils flared, he was breathing like a picadored bull.

I felt like one of Apollo's sacred cows- slow, dumb, and bright red.

Anxiety's like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn't get you very far.

Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.

.. a simile is not a lie, unless it is a bad simile.

Ideas come from ordinary, everyday life. And from imagination. And from feelings. And from memories. Memories of dust in my sneakers and humming whitewalls down a hill called Monkey.