Happiness is a garden walled with glass: there's no way in or out. In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It's loss and regret and misery and yearning that drive the story fo...
After having imposed itself on us like the egomaniac it is, clamouring about its own needs, foisting upon us its own sordid and perilous desires, the body's final trick is simply to absent itself. Jus...
Yeah, it was, like, seminal, but tame by today’s standards. Violet, for instance, did not get her intestines ripped out. There wasn’t any torture, nobody’s liver got fried in a pan, there wasn’t any g...
Expand your world. (Stories about wizards and spells) are very frequently about power relationships...
When we think of the past it's the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that.
They are boiling with the pressured energy of explosive forces confined in a small space, and with the fervor of all religious movements in their early, purist stages. It is not enough to give lip ser...
She’s the kind of woman who wants what she doesn’t have and gets what she wants and then despises what she gets.
In my dreams of this city I am always lost.
Had she believed all that? Old Pilar's folklore? No, not really; or not exactly. Most likely Pilar hadn't quite believed it either, but it was a reassuring story: that the dead were not entirely dead...
If the national mental illness of the United States is megalomania that of Canada is paranoid schizophrenia.
Is there no end to his diguises of benevolence?
What else can I do? Once you've gone this far you aren't fit for anything else. Something happens to your mind. You're overqualified, overspecialized, and everybody knows it. Nobody in any other game...
This form of love is like the painof childbirth: so intenseit's hard to remember afterwards,
Having long ago whispered , I now realize that this wish will indeed be fulfilled, and sooner rather than later. No matter that I've changed my mind about it.
A Tennyson garden, heavy with scent, languid; the return of the word swoon.
The values ascribed to the Indian will depend on what the white writer feels about Nature, and America has always had mixed feelings about that. At one end of the spectrum is Thoreau, wishing to immer...
Every habit he's ever had is still there in his body, lying dormant like flowers in the desert. Given the right conditions, all his old addictions would burst into full and luxuriant bloom.
Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
Thinking he knows can be a trap. An ex-professor once told him he had a diamond-hard intellect and he’d been flattered at the time. Now he considers the nature of diamonds. Although sharp and glitteri...
Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was...