The pain has left but I know that it has not gone far, that it is sulking somewhere in a corner or under the bed and it will jump out when I least expect it.

I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved

He would say her name over and over until it devolved into meaningless sounds - mah REI kuh, mah REI kuh - it became an entry in a dictionary of loneliness.

He thanked her and left the house in the mood of a shipwrecked man who has allowed the rescue ship to pass him by.

It's funny how we like labels. If I ever have a bookstore, I'm not going to put any labels on the sections.

That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.

Now I wonder if it means that the future is a place, or like a place, that I could go to; that is go to in some way other than just getting older.