Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.

Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.

purification in fire. public cremation

The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.

I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.

Now I wish she'd never broken any of her rules. I understood why she held to them so hard. Once you broke the first one, they all broke, one by one, like firecrackers exploding in your face in a parking lot on the Fourth of July.

Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.