she's never forgotten, either, how a mystery caught in the hand could lose its grace

Perhaps growing up meant we put our knives away and feigned ignorance of the damage.

We tap our toes to chaste love songs about the silvery moon without recognizing them as hymns to copulation.

In exchange for his first taste of powdered milk, Pascal showed me a tree we could climb to find a bird's nest. After we handled and examined the pink-skinned baby birds, he popped one of them into his mouth like a jujube. It seemed to please him a lot. He offered a baby bird to me, pantomiming that I should eat it. I understood perfectly well what he meant, but I refused. He did not seem disappointed to have to eat the whole brood himself.

Does a man become a revolutionary out of the belief he's entitled to joy rather than submission?

Value is not made of money, but a tender balance of expectation and longing.

Arguments could fill a marriage like water, running through everything, always, with no taste or color but lots of noise.