Come over here so I can examine your face with my hands and see deeper into your soul than a sighted person ever could.

I was born into Bolívar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

The world is not a wish-granting factory.

I wasn't disappointed. My expectations had been met.

Well, but you can eat Grandma's cookies. They're not bad for you. They were made by Grandma. Grandma wouldn't hurt you.

You die in the middle of your life.

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep... Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.