And I was crying for gravity. It had sent me down the stairs, and I’d thought that meant something, but maybe it was just the direction that all things tend to flow.
He kissed me, though not in a sexy way. Gentle. Tender.
That Woman is in love with her own grief.
He told me that love was the only thing that really mattered in the world.
My beautiful Win. I wanted to kiss him on every last broken place, but his mother and my lawyer were there. So, instead I started to cry.
Eye contact made people think you were being truthful even if you weren’t.
Violence should not always beget more violence.
I’m allergic to sad memories. It’s the worst.
It was such a sweet, sad song with such sweet, sad lyrics. Old-fashioned a little, but also timeless.
The theme of the dance was “Great Romances,” or some such nonsense. There were projections of supposedly great couples from the past on the walls of the gym. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Hermione and Ron, Bonnie and Clyde, etc.
But then again maybe “I will” is nicer. It has a future in it.
Before I liked to write, I liked to type. I remember visiting my grandmother Adele in Ponce Inlet, Florida, when I was three years old, and she had an IBM electric typewriter.
When I was around eight, I learned how to touch-type at school, and I received a computer as a present. I started writing plays, and for many years I thought I would be a playwright.
You tell a kid he doesn’t like to read, and he’ll believe you.
The words you can’t find, you borrow.
Sometimes books don’t find us until the right time.
I don’t believe in writer’s block.
There’s a strange sort of quiet when you’re dying. It’s as if you’re in a glass room, and the walls keep getting thicker and thicker.
Well, for one, you have to remember not to scream. Once you have their attention, whispering is much more effective. Screaming ghosts scare people, you know.
I don’t think I would have minded you being the keeper of my secrets.