Did I write that line?

I'm reading Dean Koontz' "Odd Hours." This is the fourth in a series about a young man with unusual, although not always helpful, qualities. Here's a sentence that jumped out of the book, smacked me upside my head.

"Since the bullet-shattered day in which she died, I have lived a life I don't need."

And if you're on Facebook, you may (or may not) have seen this same entry on my Facebook page. I don't really get Facebook - who cares what I'm doing moment-by-moment of the day? Nobody. And Twitter seems even more useless - I've heard it described as an "instant message community." Okay. No thanks. What do I need with that? I suppose I am here in blogland, because this is how my brain works - spewing stream of consciousness commentary on a world that probably just doesn't give a damn. Okay - fine. I don't care if you read or not. But if you do - this is what I think. I enjoy the idea of leaving my "dear diary" open to today's page when I feel like writing. I have enough voyeur in me to enjoy the idea of other's peeking in on me. So hello there. Or not.

Did I write that line for Koontz or what?