Some people are your family no matter when you find them, and some people are not, even if you are laid, still wet and crumpled, in their arms.

For me, the short story is the depth of a novel, the breadth of a poem, and, as you come to the last few paragraphs, the experience of surprise.

It takes something to get married: nerve, hope, a strong desire to make a certain statement - and it takes something to stay married: more hope, determination, a sense of humor, and needs that are best met by being in a pair.

You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.

Everyone has two memories. The one you can tell and the one that is stuck to the underside of that, the dark, tarry smear of what happened.

they danced as though they'd been waiting all their lives for each song.

I do not say what I feel, and people often take that for shyness, even kindness.