She knew how much I needed her. And now she was teasing, playing games. I looked at her and watched her turn into a sex symbol in front of my eyes. She did not look sweet and virginal and lovely anymo...
Research is a joy, especially when one is not burdened with an excessive reverence for the truth.
The New Your energy goes beyond anything you'll find anywhere else. It's too much for some people and it grinds them down, but it lifts up and animates the rest of us.
Forgiving himself came easy to him. His, he'd come to realize, was a forgiving nature.
Be careful... What the dude said, ain’t it? ... One lived in the woods and didn’t pay his taxes. Musta been before Lyme disease, when you could still get by with that shit. You know the dude I talkin’...
I wanted a drink. There were a hundred reasons why a man will want a drink, but I wanted one now for the most elementary reason of all. I didn't want to feel what I was feeling, and a voice within was...
Being dead means never having to do anything sneaky.
Fuck you! I hope you die!Everybody Dies, I said. So fuck you.
I rode to the fourth floor, poked around until I found the stairway, and walked down a flight. I almost always do this and I sometimes wonder why. I think someone must have done it in a movie once and...
We turned out to be good for each other. For a stitch of time all the hard questions went away and hid in dark places.
To say I drank my way into marriage isn't much of an exaggeration, and it's none at all to say I drank my way out of it.
The short story, I should point out, is perforce a labor of love in today's literary world; there's precious little economic incentive to write one...
Everybody's weird, fundamentally everybody is a snap. Sometimes it's a sexual thing and sometimes it's a different kind of weirdness, but one way or another everybody's nuts.
Many of us may not know too much about our characters, but we tell the reader altogether too much.
Your unconscious mind takes the things you can’t handle and plays with them while you sleep until some of the sharp corners are worn off.
You got to ask a street question to get a street answer.
The accumulator, with his acquisitions stuffed into boxes in no apparent order, is every bit as acceptable a philatelist as the collector trying slowly and painstakingly to fill, with flawlessly cente...
The House at Sugar Beach, New York Times reporter Helene Cooper’s memoir of her girlhood as a member of the Liberian upper crust.
I was delighted to see them, and wondered at the bargain I’d landed, until I learned enough about them to realize that what I had were Seebecks. One N. F. Seebeck had a contract with the government of...
I thought, My name is Matt and I'm an alcoholic. A woman I know got killed last night. She hired me to keep her from getting killed and I wound up assuring her that she was safe and she believed me. A...