He wondered how we know that what happens to us isn't good.
Ho esagerato ancora prima di cominciare, perché è vero: niente è mai grave quanto potrebbe essere.
Just once in my life--oh, when have I ever wanted anything just once in my life?
I had my own bed. I slept in it alone, except for those times when we needed—not sex—but sex was how we got there.
I have written letters that are failures, but I have written few, I think, that are lies. Trying to reach a person means asking the same question over and over again: Is this the truth, or not? I begi...
I know that homes burn and that you should think what to save before they start to. Not because, in the heat of it, everything looks as valuable as everything else. But, because nothing looks worth th...
I like radio personalities, and I like to change lanes. And losing yourself on the freeway is like living at the beach--you're not aware of lapsed time, and suddenly you're there, where it was you wer...
I read about a famous mystery writer who worked for one week in a department store. One day she saw a woman come in and buy a doll. The mystery writer found out the woman’s name, and took a bus to New...
I think it was that love that I loved. That kind of involvement was reassuring; I felt it would extend to me, as well. That it did not or that it did, but only as much and no more, was confusing at fi...
I think you would like Warren. He drinks Courvoisier in a Coke can, and has a laugh like you'd find in a cartoon bubble.
I thought, my love is so good, why isn't it calling the same thing back.
I told him about the way they get to know you. Not the way people do, the way they flatter you by wanting to know every last thing about you, only it isn't a compliment, it is just efficient, a person...
consolation is a beautiful word. everyone skins his knee-that doesnt make yours hurt anyless.
I would like to go for a ride with you, have you take me to stand before a river in the dark where hundreds of lightning bugs blink this code in sequence: right here, nowhere else! Right now, never ag...
In my head there's a broken balcony I fall off of when I speak.
It is possible to imagine a person so entirely that the image resists attempts to dislodge it.
It is such a pretty story, told to me by a Cuban woman I met in a bar at the beach. She left the bar before I did; a drunken man took her place. He leaned into me and said, I see in your dark eyes tha...
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