There's that unwritten schism that literary writers get all the awards and commericals writers get all the success.

Life was all about being in a certain place, at a certain time.

It is so easy to presume that while your own world has ground to an absolute halt, so has everyone else's.

There is a gulf as wide as an ocean between should and want, and I am drowning in it.

Sometimes I think the human heart is just a simple shelf. There is only so much you can pile onto it before something falls off an edge and you are left to pick up the pieces.

If it had been easy for Romeo to get to Juliet, nobody would have cared. Same goes for Cyrano and Don Quixote and Gatsby and their respective paramours. What captures the imagination is watching men throw themselves at a brick wall over and over again, and wondering if this is the time that they won't be able to get back up.

So much of marriage was implicit and nonverbal. Had I gotten so complacent I'd forgotten to communicate?