Your understanding of a place changes the longer you stay; you discover more, and your own life gets woven into the fabric of the community.

His love for her was so deeply woven with resentment that he could not untangle the two.

He could hardly imagine anymore what his life would be without the weight of his hidden knowledge. He'd come to think of it as a kind of penance. It was self-destructive, he could see that, but that was the way things were. People smoked, they jumped out of airplanes, they drank too much and got into their cars and drove without seat belts.

Your understanding of a place changes the longer you stay; you discover more, and your own life gets woven into the fabric of the community.

...and the distance between them, millimeters only, the space of a breath, opened up and deepened, became a cavern at whose edge he stood.

Its impossible to control the reception of your work - the only thing you can control is the experience of writing itself, and the work you create.

Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.