Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.

There are two kinds of stories, the ones you live and the ones you make up. And nobody knows the difference, and I don't ever tell which is which.

Never mistake movement for action

I kept this to remind me of you trying to brush away the Villa Rossa from your teeth in the morning, swearing and eating aspirin and cursing harlots. Every time I see that glass I think of you trying to clean your conscience with a toothbrush.

What difference does it make if you live in a picturesque little outhouse surrounded by 300 feeble minded goats and your faithful dog? The question is: Can you write?

For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.

My heart's broken,' he thought. 'If I feel this way my heart must be broken.