I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing; it's rejuvenating.

As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.

I don't think so, I don't agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.

But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?

We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.

When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.