I'm falling into disrepair
She loved them so much that she felt a kind of hollowness on the inner surface of her arms whenever she looked at them- an ache of longing to pull them close and hold them tight against her.
For my own family, I would always choose the makeshift, surrogate family formed by various characters unrelated by blood.
Time, in general, has always been a central obsession of mine - what it does to people, how it can constitute a plot all on its own. So naturally, I am interested in old age.
It was ridiculous of her to feel so wounded.
Don't count on me to take you in because I'm angry. I'm angry at you for leading us on such a song and dance all these years, not just these few years but all the years, skipping all those holidays an...
Smells could bring a person back clearer than pictures even could.
Why wasn't there an etiquette book for runaway wives?
The very thing that attracts you to someone can end up putting you off.
Ever consider what pets must think of us? I mean, here we come back from a grocery store with the most amazing haul - chicken, pork, half a cow. They must think we're the greatest hunters on earth!
But if you never did anything you couldn't undo you'd end up doing nothing at all.
He thought of dying as a kind of adventure, something new that he hadn't yet experienced. Like an unusual vacation trip.
Bravest thing about people is how they go on loving mortal beings after finding out there's such a thing as dying.
I would advise any beginning writer to write the first drafts as if no one else will ever read them - without a thought about publication - and only in the last draft to consider how the work will loo...
You’re only ever as happy as your least happy child?’
One thing that parents of problem children never said aloud: it was a relief when the children turned out okay, but then what were the parents supposed to do with the anger they’d felt all those years...
I write because I want to have more than one life.
Ghosts... they are the completions of the deads intended gestures, there unfinished plans still hanging in the air - something like when you forgot one thing and so you pantomime the motion.
Face it,' I said. 'There is no true life. Your true life is the one you end up with, whatever it may be. You just do the best you can with what you've got,' I said.
For me, writing was the only way out.