You are a coward,' she said, and with that one word wrote a denunciation, a biography, and a prophecy.

It's stupid. There are maps to show you how to get to the place where you want to be but no maps that show you how to get to the time when you want to be.

She praised his book and he embraced her from gratitude rather than lust, but she didn't let go. Neither did he. She kissed his cheek, his earlobe. For months they'd run their fingers around the hem of their affection without once acknowledging the fabric. The circumference of the world tightened to what their arms encompassed. She sat on the desk, between the columns of read and unread manuscript, and pulled him toward her by his index fingers.

Happiness came in moments of unpredictable loveliness.

War is unnatural, it causes people to act unnaturally.

We twist our souls around each other’s miseries.

Inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce, and that is who we are.