Everybody has something wrong with them.

The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.

The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it.

My,' she said. 'We're lucky that you found the place.' We're always lucky,' I said and like a fool I did not knock on wood. There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.

That every day should be a fiesta seemed to me a wonderful discovery.

I would take anything I love and throw it off the highest cliff you ever saw and not wait to hear it bounce.

When you have a child, the world has a hostage.