The flesh had infinity in it. I must know every inch by touch yet every inch renewed its mystery the instant my hand moved on. Delightful endless futility.

Snow makes cities innocent again, reveals the frailty of the human gesture against the void.

That's what happens when you keep a secret from someone you love: you start to hate them for allowing you to prove your own willingness to deceive them.

Peace is purchased in the currency of loss.

We go to the past to lay the blame - since the past can't argue. We go to our past selves to account for our present miseries.

I'm too conceited for therapy.

If Im going to invest the time in a novel, I want something more than the entertainment you get out of most genre fiction.