I've always enjoyed studying the small clues that indicate a particular class level.

Isn't a memorial service meant to comfort the living?

No couple buying wedding rings wants to be reminded that someday one of them will have to accept the other one's ring from a nurse or an undertaker.

We stay in the house so much because I am waiting for the telephone. I seem to be back in my teens, a period I thought I would never have to endure again: my life is spent hoping for things that only someone else can bring about.

He was wondering if there was some cryptic, cultish mark on his door that told all the crazy people he'd have trouble saying no.

How plotless real life was!

I'm too shy for personal appearances, and I've found out that anytime I talk about my writing, I can't do any writing for many weeks afterward.