Though at that time men and women tried each other on, casually, like suits, rejecting whatever did not fit.
There's just one thing I want you to remember. You know those chemicals women have in them, when they've got PMS? Well, men have the very same chemicals in them all the time.
There are several diseases of the memory. Forgetfulness of nouns, for instance, or of numbers. Or there are more complex amnesias. With one, you can lose your entire past; you start afresh, learning h...
There are no lawyers anymore, and the university is closed.
The palliative care nurses welcome him: he's a spot of brightness, they claim he keeps the patients interested in life. We don't think of the clients here as dying, one of them said to him on his firs...
The only sure camouflage was unpredictability.
The fact is that I hate this city. I've hated it so long I can hardly remember feeling any other way about it.
Something is unfolding, being revealed to me. I see that there's a whole world of of girls and their doings that has been unknown to me, and that I can be part of without making any effort at all. I d...
Some people write letters, in the library.
So we couldn't mingle with them, but we could eavesdrop. We got our knowledge that way--we caught it like germs.
She'd love to go over him with a fine-toothed comb. Rummage around in him. Turn him upside down. Empty him out.
She who pays the undertaker calls the tune.
She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said...
Sex and violence, he thinks now. A lot of the songs were about that. We didn't even notice. We thought it was art.
Sanity is a valuable possession; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.
Roz added sheep to Heaven. They would be outside the window, naturally.
Perfection exacts a price, but it's the imperfect who pay it.
Our curiosity is supposed to have limits, though these have never been defined exactly.
Oryx, he says. I know you’re there. He repeats the name. It’s not even her real name, which he’d never known anyway; it’s only a word. It’s a mantra. Sometimes he can conjure her up. At first she’s pa...
Or he’d watch the news: more plagues, more famines, more floods, more insect or microbe or small-mammal outbreaks, more droughts, more chickenshit boy-soldier wars in distant countries. Why was everyt...