To live in a city is to be forever flinching.
A thought experiment courtesy of the Stoics. If you are tired of everything you possess, imagine that you have lost all these things.
For years, I kept a Post-it note above my desk. WORK NOT LOVE! was what it said. It seemed a sturdier kind of happiness.
The only love that feels like love is the doomed kind. (Fun fact.)
My plan was to never get married. I was going to be an art monster instead.
One of the odd things about being a writer is that you never reach a point of certainty, a point of mastery where you can say, Right. Now I understand how this is done.