I kissed him, trying to bring him back. I kissed him and let my lips rest against his so that our breath mingled and the tears from my eyes became salt on his skin, and I told myself that, somewhere, tiny particles of him would become tiny particles of me, ingested, swallowed, alive, perpetual. I wanted to press every bit of me against him. I wanted to will something into him. I wanted to give him every bit of life I felt and force him to live.

It's complicated.' 'So's quantitative easing. But I still get that it means printing money.

I worked out what would make me happy, and I worked out what I wanted to do, and I trained myself to do the job that would make those two things happen

I can't do this because I can't...I can't be the man I want to be with you. And that means that this - this just becomes...another reminder of what I am not.

If I don't cry while writing a key emotional scene, my gut feeling is it's failed.

There is a whole lot more to life than winning.

There are normal hours, and then there are invalid hours, where time stalls and slips, where life---real life---seems to exist at one remove.