They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.

I was so thin I could slice bread with my shoulderblades, only I seldom had bread.

Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

There may not be a hell, but those who judge may create one. I think people are over-taught. They are over-taught everything. You have to find out by what happens to you, how you will react. I'll have to use a strange term here... "good." I don't know where it comes from, but I feel that there's an ultimate strain of goodness born in each of us. I don't believe in God, but I believe in this "goodness" like a tube running through our bodies. It can be nurtured. It's always magic, when on a freeway packed with traffic, a stranger makes room for you to change lanes... it gives you hope.

They, all of them, seemed to put literary form in front of the actuality and living of life itself.

eleven months. now she's gone gone as they go.

I hope that death contains less than this.