It's our suspicion that there's another, better Heaven behind the cumulus screen,' he murmurs into the grass, bending and tearing at a root that tastes beautifully yellow. 'That's the trouble. That's...
It was sad and fierce all at once, alive with a lonely purity.
I didn’t realize that one tragedy can beget another, and another — bright-eyed disasters flooding out of a death hole like bats out of a cave.
Even in her trances, even while possessed, my sister was very shrewd about her prospects. A fantasy would collapse like a wave against the rocks of her intelligence. Madness, as I understood it from b...
This strain of virulent misery, this falling out of love, caused different symptoms, unique disruptions, in dogs and humans.
Secret deals get brokered behind the Barn, just north of the red sloop of the bunny hutch. A number of the presidents are planning their escape for a day they are calling the Fourth of July.
Our mother, in several beautiful ways, may have been a little crazy. For example: who dries their clothing with a hurricane coming? Like Ossie, Mom got distracted easily. It was seventy-thirty odds wh...
What a weird future awaited her in the past!
Wear your skeleton on the inside out, and keep your insect heart secret.
Kids were for later, maybe. They could still see the children they had been.
I had been eagerly waiting just such a disaster. Storms, wolves, snakebite, floods-these are the occasions to find out how your father sees you, how strong and necessary he thinks you are.
But until we are old ladies- a cypress age, a Sawtooth age- I will continue to link arms with her, in public, in private, in a panic of love.
We didn’t talk about Eric Mutis, but the effort of not talking about him made our actual words feel like fizz, just a lot of speedy emptiness.
Pain collected into deep pockets and I was aware of this painbut somehow I could not seem to feel it. It was like a body-deafness.
Now her body was the only place where the memories were preserved.
Live long enough, and your life becomes your own to gamble with again
It's strange to own anything, Beverly thinks, even your flesh, that nobody outside yourself ever touches or sees.
At ten, I couldn’t articulate much but I got the message: to be a true historian, you had to mourn amply and well.
Their eyes flicking all over each other.
The beginning of the end can feel a lot like the middle when you are living in it.