When you look up 'hilarious' in the dictionary, there's a picture of you.

You're incredibly beautiful,' I told her, because she was fat, so I thought it would be an especially nice compliment, and also make her like me again, even though I was sexist.

In the morning, when the nothing vase casts a something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that?

It seems entirely possible to me that horrible things can be going on without us becoming horrible people.

Succotash my Balzac, dipshiitake.

Memory was supposed to fill the time, but it made time a hole to be filled. Each second was two hundred yards, to be walked, crawled. You couldn't see the next hour, it was so far in the distance. Tomorrow was over the horizon, and would take an entire day to reach.

I don't think that there are any limits to how excellent we could make life seem.