We long to be found, hoping our searchers have not given up and gone home.
You are what you are" "Which is what? I wondered
She laughed, and the desert sang.
Be very, very careful not to let the facts get mixed up with the truth.
Where were we?" she said. "Getting credit," I said. "What about it?" "Well, it's nice to get credit." The spokes of her rear wheel spun behind the curtain of her long skirt. She looked like a photograph from a hundred years ago. She turned her wide eyes on me. "Is it?" she said.
Whom do I write for? I write for the story. Each story, it seems to me, knows best how it should be told. As I once put my ear to the railroad track, I listen now for the voice of my story.