No shame in saying that I felt a loneliness drifting through me. Funny how it was, everyone perched in their own little world with the deep need to talk, each person with their own tale, beginning in some strange middle point, then trying so hard to tell it all, to have it all make sense, logical and final.

She's always thought that one of the beauties of New York is that you can be from anywhere and within moments of landing its yours.

Where happiness was not a possibility, the illusion of it was always more important.

He looks like the sort of man who can't afford to leave, and doesn't want to stay, and so he is doing both at once.

The thing about love is that we come alive in bodies not our own.

That's what sons do: write to their mothers about recall, tell themselves about the past until they come to realize that they are the past.

It struck me that distant cities are designed precisely so you can know where you came from.