It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.
But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window–maybe rearrange all the furniture.
there isn’t enough of anythingas long as we live. But at intervalsa sweetness appears and, given a chanceprevails.
Happiness. It comes onunexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,any early morning talk about it.
That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.
My circumstances of unrelieved responsibility and permanent distraction necessitated the short story form.
You see, this happened a few months ago, but it’s still going on right now, and it ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.
That’s right,’ Mel said. ‘Some vassal would come along and spear the bastard in the name of love. Or whatever the fuck it was they fought over in those days.’Same things we fight over these days,’ Terri said.Laura said, ‘Nothing’s changed.
We knew our days were numbered. We had fouled up our lives and we were getting ready for a shake-up.
I’m a heart surgeon, sure, but I’m just a mechanic. I go in and I fuck around and I fix things. Shit.
I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.
They had laughed. They had leaned on each other and laughed until the tears had come, while everything else–the cold, and where he’d go in it–was outside, for a while anyway.
I don’t fire up the prose. I just tell it straight and don’t fool around with it.
When you live in the dark for so long, you begin to love it. And it loves you back, and isn’t that the point? You think, the face turns to the shadows, and just as well. It accepts, it heals, it allows.But it also devours.
I’m always learning something. Learning never ends.
They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.
Nights without beginning that had no end. Talking about a past as if it’d really happened. Telling themselves that this time next year, this time next year, things were going to be different.
I’m moving to Nevada. Either there or kill myself.
There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I’d like to know. I wish someone could tell me.
Honey, no offense, but sometimes I think I could shoot you and watch you kick.
But dying is for the sweetest ones. And he remembers sweetness, when life was sweet, and sweetly he was given that other lifetime.
Write what you know, and what do you know better than your own secrets?
This is awful. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me or to anyone else in the world.
I lifted him out. I held him. I held that half of him.
The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places.
There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.
Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising.