There was no time for kissing but she wanted him to know that in the future there would be. A kiss in so much loneliness was like a hand pulling you up out of the water, scooping you up from a place of drowning and into the reckless abundance of air. A kiss, another kiss.

One must not be shy where language is concerned.

It makes you wonder. All the brilliant things we might have done with our lives if only we suspected we knew how.

She sang as if she was saving the life of every person in the room.

Sometimes not having any idea where we’re going works out better than we could possibly have imagined.

I am the person who is appropriating stories that are not mine and turning them into a book.

When well told, a story captured the subtle movement of change. If a novel was a map of a country, a story was the bright silver pin that marked the crossroads.