So I let her go, too. And I'm sorry.

The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing.

Dad had a sign of his own. MY BEAUTIFUL FAMILY, it read, and then underneath that (AND GUS).

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.

I hate the rich snots here with a fervent passion I usually reserve only for dental work and my father.

We have bottled all the stars this evening, my young friend.

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