Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.
Afterward she lies nestled against me, her hair tickling my face. I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for...
With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.
Being the survivor stinks.
Now, go shovel some shit.
It seems there's nothing so good or pure it cant be taken without a moment's notice. And then in the end, it all gets taken anyway.
Is where you're from the place you're leaving or where you have roots?
I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.I want.
In seventy years, I’ve never told a blessed soul.
But then this Isabelle turned and laughed and in that instant I saw my wife. This made me weepy and these people whom I didn’t recognize exchanged furtive glances and shortly thereafter announced that...
Stared at him for a long time. If he wanted to end his search for the beast, he need look no further than a mirror.
When did I stop being me?
Don't mind Russ, he says. He's a good kid underneath all those holes, although it's a wonder he doesn't spring a leak when he drinks
All right. Let's give you something to tell your grandkids about. Or great-grandkids. Or great-great-grandkids. I snort with glee, delirious with excitement. Charlie winks and pours me another finger'...
If you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.
Off, but Osgood, the photographer, was already snoring softly. He was in the center seat, wedged between John Thigpen and
When you’re five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties you know how old you are. I’m twenty-three, you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties something strange sta...
When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.
What else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That’s the reality of getting old, and I guess that’s really the crux of the matter. I’m not ready to be old yet.
Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.