People think they know the mystery of living in your skin. They don't. There's no one who knows except the person who carts it around her own self.

The stars looked like nail heads in the sky--pull a few of them out and the darkness would fall.

Sometimes, in life, nothing happens. But, sometimes, nothing happens beautifully.

Good days, they come around the oddest corners.

I told him that I loved him and that I'd always love him and I felt like a child who throws a centavo into a fountain and then she has to tell someone her most extraordinary wish even though she knows that the wish should be kept secret and that, in telling it, she is quite probably losing it. He replied that I was not to worry, that the penny could come out of the fountain again and again and again.

One look at each other and it was immediately understood that they both needed a clean slate,,, The obliteration of memory.

She takes another long haul, lets the smoke settle in her lungs-- she has heard somewhere that cigarettes are good for grief. One long drag and you forget how to cry. The body too busy dealing with the poison.