What a surprise (we all know how tolerant the tolerant are).

Love was a rare thing, easily confused with a million other things, and if anybody knew this to be true it was him.

There's little question that short stories, like poetry, don't get the respect they deserve in the culture - but what can you do? Like Canute, one cannot fight the sea, you have to go with your love, and hope one day, things change.

You keep waiting for the heaviness to leave you. You keep waiting for the moment you never think about the ex again. It doesn't come.

This country wants to live in the illusion that it is tolerant but also wants to be able to practice intolerance.

The anti-immigrant logic has basically saturated our world. I'm staying, and I'm fighting.

A first lesson in the fragility of love and the preternatural cowardice of men. And out of this disillusionment and turmoil sprang Beli's first adult oath, one that would follow her into adulthood, to the States and beyond. I will not serve.