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

She wanted out of the decorating scheme.

It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the porch, you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.

On their best days, writers all over the world are winning Pulitzers, all alone in their studios, with no one watching.

We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.

The trees like lungs filling with air. My sister, the mean one, pulling my hair.

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