Every now and then he would tilt his head back so that his sunglasses reflected sky, and would say, I love her. Every time he said it he seemed delivered of a profundity that amazed him, as though he...
Well, marriage doesn't function in the way it used to in terms of deciding our fate, but it's in our heads, and it determines a lot of our actions. Like, right now, if you think about gay marriage - a...
Biosynthesis and peripheral action of testosterone,
Androgynous
What really mattered in life, what gave it weight, was death.
What lingered after them was not life, which always overcomes natural death, but the most trivial list of mundane facts: a clock ticking on a wall, a room dim at noon, and the outrageousness of a huma...
This can't be true but I remember it.
Their desire was silent yet magnificent, like a thousand daisies attuning their faces toward the path of the sun.
The sky grew darker, and the light abandoned the daytime, so that we found ourselves always moving in a timeless murk, the only way to discern the hour the taste of sour burps, toothpaste in the morni...
The mouth is small but well shaped, kissable, musical
The more she thought about it, the more Madeleine understood that extreme solitude didn't just describe the way she was feeling about Leonard. It explained how she'd always felt when she was in love....
The matter with us is you.
The lover`s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn`t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme b...
That was the ideal: to remain dutiful to a preservationist ethos while not depriving yourself of modern creature comforts.
Stomach-sleepers like me were in retreat from reality, given to dark perception and the meditative arts. This
So do boys and men announce their intentions. They cover you like a sarcophagus lid. And call it love.
Shit. What have kids got to be worried about now? If they want trouble, they should go live in Bangladesh.
She used a line from Trollope's Barchester Towers as an epigraph:There is no happiness in love, except at the end of an English novel.
Scars crossed her welded wrists.
Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.