Malcolm Devlin

when you say you’re going to tell people a horror story, they sit up in their chairs defensively, waiting to see you fail. When you tell them it’s a love story, they relax, they open themselves wide

Macey once told me the problem with the truth was that it was so poorly written. Given the choice, the pleasantly told lie is always more seductive

I read voraciously, because words on a page felt committed in a way words said out loud were not

If you’re the sort of person who sees blood and monsters rather than somebody real? What does that say about us, I wonder? What does that say about me? Does it take a certain sort of mindset to succumb to that sort of narrative?

wasn’t the end of the world we had imagined; it wasn’t some magical utopia either, it was simply a place where life endured.