This incompleteness is all we have.

Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed the better I felt.

The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left.

I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.

but isn't there always one good thing to look back on? think of how many cups of coffee we drank together.

if you think they didn't go crazy in tiny rooms just like you're doing now without women without food without hope then you're not ready.

We are all museums of fear.