The miracle is the adverbs, the way things are done.

The rinsed foam swirled into one drain that always clogged come October when the maples dropped Canadian propaganda over everything.

Once more, this is love: it rings and you open up unless it looks like an ax murderer.

If an optimist had his left arm chewed off by an alligator, he might say in a pleasant and hopeful voice, "Well this isn't too bad, I don't have a left arm anymore but at least nobody will ever ask me if I'm left-handed or right-handed," but most of us would say something more along the lines of, "Aaaaaa! My arm! My arm!"

Literature doesn’t exactly have a strong mental-health track record.

Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.

This is an absurd moral, for you and I both know that sometimes not only is it good to lie, it is necessary to lie.