Yes, what is it like? Certainly not like she dreamed. But maybe that's okay. We want what we want. At home, she works herself into a frenzy worrying about what she isn't--and perhaps loses track of ju...
You can always spot the real thing, that affection; why does it always come from the wrong person?
You can't just say that, Pasquale. Those words have tremendous power. It's how people end up married.
You don't really want my side of the story. You don't want to understand me, know me, to crawl inside of my head. You don't want to feel the things I've felt. You just want to know that one thing: why...
You had to write it, and he had to play it, and I'm just so grateful I got to see it.
Your parents don't get to tell your story. Your sisters don't. When he's old enough, even Pat doesn't get to tell your story. I'm your husband and I don't even get to tell it. So I don't care how love...
Zo gaat het wanneer je je verliest in dromen, dacht hij: je droomt van het een, je droomt van het ander en voor je het weet heb je je hele leven verslapen.
And he urges the old man to remember the last moment he felt his being without its relation to beloved Amedea, his last moment of individual happiness or longing—
As if ye have faith and it shall be given to you.
Buried by random events, ruined by confusion and grief.
Happy to no longer expect the dead perfection of museum art, but embrace the sweet lovely mess that is real life.
Has anyone ever been more lovesick than a zombie, that pale, dull metaphor for love, all animal craving and lurching, outstretched arms, his very existence a sonnet about how much he wants those brain...
Imagine never leaving North Idaho again. He’s got his coffee and he’s got his ritual, his work around the cabin, and with the new satellite dish Lydia buys him for his birthday, he’s got nine hundred...
Mother: a man wants many things in life, but when one of them is also the right thing, he would be a fool not to choose it. Pasquale waited until the
On the street they moved with purpose, at different speeds but in straight lines, like a thousand bullets fired at a thousand different angles from a thousand different guns. All of these people movin...
Our lives have a way of eddying back on themselves, offering us the same view over and over, daring us to get it right just once.
The more you lived the more regret and longing you suffered, that life was a glorious catastrophe
The scramble to get higher, to be seen, the cycle of creation and rebellion, everyone assuming they were saying something new or doing something new, something profound—when the truth was that it had...
The water. The feral cats scattered before her.
You broke up two marriages, and faked a young woman’s illness, and bribed her to get an abortion—all in the first chapter—
Showing 181 to 200 of 201 results