It took this awful situation for us to realize it. Nick and I fit together. I am a little too much, and he is a little too little. I am a thorn bush, bristling from the overattention of my parents, an...
It sounded artificial, like a beauty pageant contestant pledging world peace. I did feel sad, but articulating it seemed cheap to me.
It sounded artificial, like a beauty contestant pledging world peace.
It seemed to me that there was nothing new to be discovered ever again. Our society was utterly, ruinously derivative (although the word derivative as a criticism is itself derivative). We were the fi...
It seemed to me that she'd been expelled into this world not quite formed,
Instead, she’d let it get even more overgrown and cobwebbed. We’d always joked that it would be a good place to bury a body. It couldn’t be.
In truth, I wanted her to read my mind so I didn’t have to stoop to the womanly art of articulation. I was sometimes as guilty of playing the figure-me-out game as Amy was.
IT WAS MISERABLE, wet-bone March and I was lying in bed thinking about killing myself, a hobby of mine.
I'd come to find the morning depressing, to know it would come again and again.
I wonder what it feels like to be a woman whose Christmas present must be bought in cash. Liberating.
I won't blame Nick. I don't blame Nick. I refuse - refuse! - to turn into some pert-mouthed, strident angry-girl. I made two promises to myself when I married Nick. One: no dancing-monkey demands. Two...
I was not that man: I didn’t hate and fear all women. I was a one-woman misogynist. If I despised only Amy, focused all my fury and rage and venom on the one woman who deserved it, that didn’t make me...
I was lying in bed thinking of killing myself, a hobby of mine.
I understand now why so many horror movies use that device—the mysterious knock on the door—because it has the weight of a nightmare. You don’t know what’s out there, yet you know you’ll open it. You’...
I suppose these questions stormcloud over every marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you> What have we done to each other? What will we do?
I really hope you like this, he says again, and flings open the door. It's a glass room, a greenhouse, I realize. Within are tulips, hundreds, of all colors. Tulips bloom in the middle of July in Desi...
I need to be ambushed, caught unawares, like some sort of feral love-jackal.
I like the name. Like in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Audrey Hepburn’s cat was named Cat.
I like other people’s things better. They come with other people’s history.
I just want you to be happy, Amy. How many times did he say that and I took it to mean: I just want you to be happy, Amy, because that’s less work for me.