Never confuse faith, or belief — of any kind — with something even remotely intellectual.

You can give yourself a headache trying to decipher the tattoos on a naked man who’s leaping up and down on a bed.

Grant us safe lodging, and holy rest,” Mrs. Grogan was saying, “and peace at last.” Amen, thought Wilbur Larch, the Saint of St. Cloud’s, who was seventy-something, and an ether addict, and who felt that he’d come a long way and still had a long way to go.

… but only because exhaustion is a life-sign; it is at least a form of being human.

The desire to never leave your side, the desire to never see you again. The desire to see your face asleep on the pillow beside my face and to see your eyes open in the morning when I lie next to you—just watching you, waiting for you to wake up.

…there is no nakedness that compares to being naked in front of someone for the first time.

There are always suicides among people who are unable to say what they mean.