I feel, holding books, accommodating their weight and breathing their dust, an abiding love. I trust them, in a way that I can't trust my computer, though I couldn't do without it. Books are matter. M...
I felt the weight of my father's failures and the absence of my mother and I wondered who would teach me, or if a guy could learn on his own, what it means to be a man.
I hum some secret place into being, thinking of this other me, the one that only I can see, a girl called She, who is not We, a girl who I will never be.
I was three inches taller but he could smell my fear.
Fatal is fatal, but it doesn't have to be all downhill.
You don’t like something about yourself, change it. If you’re okay with it, you gotta own it. There’s nothing in between.
Before she closed her eyes tonight, Rose said she regretted that she has not done something heroic in her life. Well, it's not like she can suddenly climb a tree and save a cat, or go to medical schoo...
If heaven is tolerant and writers are allowed (bunch of liars though they are), I wonder if they gather for coffee to ponder the prose they should have written instead.
Funny how you can measure time by pets that were not even your own.
If you don’t like something about yourself, change it. If you’re okay with it, you gotta own it. There’s nothing in between.
In sleep, my sister and I found a common breath. In dreams, we knew the moon.
In some ways, Mary thought, Irma lived her whole life anxious to get things over with, as if she knew the end of her story all along, and didn’t feel the middle pages worth the effort of a read.
In those dangerous narrows grew children who knew too much too young but, sadly, always seemed to learn too little too late.
It was Aunt Lovey's belief that all ordinary people led extraordinary lives, but just didn't notice.
It’s not that you like being sad, but you start to see the value of it. You don’t judge sadness so harshly.
Mary reached into her vinyl purse and extracted one of the novels, each of whose covers had promised laughter and tears. She began to read and, finding a masterful storyteller behind its pages, was in...
My father used to say there are two kinds of people. The notices and the noticed.
Aunt Lovey used to tell me that if I wanted to be a writer, I needed a writer's voice. 'Read,' she'd say, 'and if you have a writer's voice, one day it will shout out, 'I can do that too!
On the farm, in our first-floor bedroom, my sister and I were sheltered in the essence of normal. We were not hidden, but unseen. The orange farmhouse was our castle, our kingdom the fields around, an...
Plus vieux, tu comprendras que, malgré les apparences, il n'y a pas de bon ou mauvais moment. Il y a un moment, point final.
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