As long as I stared at the clock, at least the world remained in motion. Not a very consequential world, but in motion nonetheless. And as long as I knew the world was still in motion, I knew I existed. Not a very consequential existence, but an existence nonetheless. It struck me as wanting that someone should confirm his own existence only by the hands of an electric wall clock. There had to be a more cognitive means of confirmation. But try as I might, nothing less facile came to mind.

The unwaking world was as hushed as a deep forest.

Her cry was the saddest sound of orgasm that I had ever heard.

Irrepressible curiosity vied with an instinctive fear.

People's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive.

Letters are just pieces of paper," I said. "Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.

If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far.