In the days that follow, he begins to remember things about Moushumi, images that come to him without warning while he is sitting at his desk at work, or during a meeting, or drifting off to sleep, or standing in the mornings under the shower. They are scenes he has carried within him, buried but intact, scenes he has never thought about or had reason to conjure up until now.

I approach writing stories as a recorder. I think of my role as some kind of reporting device - recording and projecting.

Gogol is unaccustomed to this sort of talk at mealtimes, to the indulgent ritual of the lingering meal, and the pleasant aftermath of bottles and crumbs and empty glasses that clutter the table.

I am drawn to any story that makes me want to read from one sentence to the next. I have no other criterion.

...that in spite of living in a mansion an American is not above wearing a pair of secondhand pants, bought for fifty cents.

He owned an expensive camera that required thought before you pressed the shutter, and I quickly became his favorite subject, round-faced, missing teeth, my thick bangs in need of a trim. They are still the pictures of myself I like best, for they convey that confidence of youth I no longer possess, especially in front of a camera.

A lot of my upbringing was about denying or fretting or evading.