I despised their antics because I took life seriously and had a much more lofty and tender notion of romance. But I would have liked to get their attention just the same.

Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.

The thing is to be happy, no matter what. Just try that. You can. It gets to be easier and easier. It's nothing to do with circumstances. You wouldn't believe how good it is. Accept everything and then tragedy disappears. Or tragedy lightens, anyway, you're just there, going along easy in the world.

The conversation of kisses. Subtle, engrossing, fearless, transforming.

One drop of hatred in your soul will spread and discolor everything like a drop of black ink in white milk.

I would really hope this would make people see the short story as an important art, not just something you played around with until you got a novel.

Sometimes our connection is frayed, it is in danger, it seems almost lost. Views and streets deny knowledge of us, the air grows thin. Wouldn't we rather have a destiny to submit to, than, something that claims us, anything, instead of such flimsy choices, arbitrary days?