If Mitchell was ever going to become a good Christian, he would have to stop disliking people so intensely.

Whenever we got a glimpse, their faces looked indecently revealed, as though we were used to seeing women in veils.

The world, a tired performer, offers us another half-assed season.

The only way we know it's true is that we both dreamed it. That's what reality is. It's a dream everyone has together.

I went into the desert to forget about you. But the sand was the color of your hair. The desert sku was the color of your eyes. There was nowhere I could go that wouldn't be you.

I want an ending that’s satisfying. I’m more of a classical writer than a modernist one in that I want the ending to be coherent and feel like an ending. I don’t like when it just seems to putter out. I mean, life is chaotic enough.

In the end we had the pieces of the puzzle, but no matter how we put them together, gaps remained, oddly shaped emptinesses mapped by what surrounded them, like countries we couldn't name.