Parents are always more knowledgeable than their children, and children are always smarter than their parents.

My boots were so heavy that I was glad there was a column beneath us. How could such a lonely person have been living so close to me my whole life? If I had known, I would have gone up to keep him company.

I could tell that Mom was dreaming, but I didn't want to know what she was dreaming about, because I had enough of my own nightmares, and if she had been dreaming something happy, I would have been angry at her for dreaming something happy.

My test for writing is always, is this fun or does it feel like a job? Is it moving me? Or am I just fulfilling my own expectations - or even worse, somebody else's?

I will describe my eyes and then begin the story. My eyes are blue and resplendent. Now I will begin the story.

Things were happening around us, but nothing was happening between us.

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?