Forgiving himself came easy to him. His, he'd come to realize, was a forgiving nature.
I heaved into being, came out of the stone, the bricks, and other elements, and took form. (Dark City Lights)
I am content when writing short stories.
If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, 'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions. (Dark City Lights)
A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
The child came to a stop beside her mother and stared up at her face as if she had never seen it before. It was the face of the new misery she felt, but on her mother it looked old and it looked as if...
One evening, after a particularly terrible row, the prince smashed his princess over the head with an old wooden clock and she tumbled to the floor, dead.
I been starin' at the back a Jimmy Nelson's head for four grades now and I been noticin' how his blond hair curls against the skin on his neck and the birthmark shaped like a half-moon I wanna press m...
I have this uncanny knack of falling for the most irrelevant men,my love story would be comprising of short stories.
If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, I'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions.
It would be one hell of an addition to someone's scrapbook. (Dark City Lights)
He'd wanted to mend her just like his mother had mended his favorite teddy bear when his arm had come loose after too much play. He offered her his pudding cup instead.
Wait, Connie said again. A . . . what? Am I going to sparkle or something? God, no, said Irwin and I together.
There’s an immense dramatic possibility in describing that universe. The books, for me, were an enormous relief in that sense of how they were written to allow primary emotion, elemental emotion, to m...
What we are about to have here is a holy water smack down!
Death, is a beautiful conclusion to these short stories, that which we have so interestingly entitled, lives.
The weakness of a man is the strength of a woman
I think it is the art of the glimpse. If the novel is like an intricate Renaissance painting, the short story is an impressionist painting. It should be an explosion of truth. Its strength lies in wha...
The dollar bills attached to her hips fluttered to the rug of the small square stage, like the first flakes of winter in the Bronx. (Dark City Lights)
Only the foolish, blinded by language's conventions, think of fire as red or gold. Fire is blue at it's melancholy rim, green in it's envious heart. It may burn white, or even, in it's greatest rages,...