The thing under my bed waiting to grab my ankle isn't real. I know that, and I also know that if I'm careful to keep my foot under the covers, it will never be able to grab my ankle.
The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there...and still on your feet.
The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen or word processor.
The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the good byes that tell us we're still alive.
Shit don't mean shit
She put a hand on his hip and turned him to her. But things could go wrong, so i want to tell you something while it's just the two of us, Eddie. I want to tell you how much I love you. She spoke simp...
She pushed the button and like a miracle her head filled with the sound of Jerry Trupiano’s voice… and more importantly, with the sounds of Fenway Park. She was sitting out here in the darkening, drip...
She nods. You're good for the ones you love. You want to be good for the ones you love, because you know that your time with them will end up being too short, no matter how long it is.
Reading in bed can be heaven, assuming you can get just the right amount of light on the page and aren't prone to spilling your coffee or cognac on the sheets.
Oh shit, the mummy's after us, let's all walk a little faster
No one likes to see a government folder with his name on it.
No one ever does live happily ever after, but we leave the children to find that out for themselves.
My father, she said, pronouncing it fadder, and Beverly saw that her dress had also changed. It had become a scabrous, peeling black. The cameo was a skull, its jaw hung in a diseased gape. His name...
Might as well try to drink the ocean with a spoon as argue with a lover.
Men! She could not understand why so many women feared them. Hadn't the gods made them with the most vulnerable part of their guts hanging right out of their bodies, like a misplaced bit of bowel? Kic...
Maybe, in the end it's the voice that tells the stories more than the stories themselves that matters.
Life was a wheel, its only job was to turn, and it always came back to where it started.
Life turns on a dime.
Life is like Friday on a soap opera. It gives you the illusion that everything is going to wrap up, and then the same old shit starts up on Monday.
Just remember that Dumbo didn't need the feather; the magic was in him.