I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.

You begin always knowing nothing. You remain forever an amateur, a first timer.

All sixteen mentioned her jutting ribs, the insubstantiality of her thighs, and one, who went up to the roof with Lux during a warm winter rain, told us how the basins of her collarbones collected water.

It was like autumn, looking at her. it was like driving up north to see the colors.

All wisdom ends in paradox.

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

The zipper opened all the way down our spines.