It isn't the sort of thing you ask questions about, because the answers are not usually answers you want to know.
Is anything wrong, dear? the old joke went.No, why?You moved.Just don't move.
If you want what's in the package you should at least know how to get the string off, is what I say.
I would like to be found. I would like to see. Or to be seen. I wonder if, in the eye of God, it amounts to the same thing.
I was tired of her getting away with being so young.
I was stuck in Port Ticonderoga, proud bastion of the common-and-garden variety button and of lower-priced long johns for the budget-minded shoppers. I would stagnate here, nothing would ever happen t...
I wanted to forget the past, but it refused to forget me; it waited for sleep, then cornered me.
I wait, for the household to assemble. Household: that is what we are. The Commander is the head of the household. The house is what he holds. To have and to hold, till death do us part. The hold of a...
I thought, men who changed their names were likely to be con-men, criminals, undercover agents or magicians, whereas women who changed their names were probably just married.
I thought of myself as an itinerant brain--the equivalent of a strolling player of Elizabethan times, or else a troubadour, clutching my university degree like a cheap lute.
I think, therefore I spam.
I tell myself it doesn't matter, your name is like your telephone number, useful only to others; but what I tell myself is wrong, it does matter.
I suffer from my own multiplicity. Two or three images would have been enough, or four, or five. That would be allowed for a firm idea: This is she. As it is, I'm watery, I ripple, from moment to mome...
I never do such things, however. I only consider them. If I did them, they would be sure I had gone mad again. Gone mad is what they say, and sometimes Run mad, as if mad is a direction, like west; as...
How dare she show herself to be everything he was so annoyed with her for not being?
How could a person be caught that way, in an instant, by a glance, the lift of an eyebrow, the curve of an arm? But he was.
His generation believed that if there was trouble all you’d have to do was shoot someone and then it would be okay.
Her metaphors for her children included barnacles encrusting a ship and limpets clinging to a rock.
Hell we can make for ourselves.
He'll find out somehow, because journeys end in lovers meeting.