If you're suicidal, and you don't actually kill yourself, you become known as 'wry.

She was afraid, and the afraid, she realized, sought opportunities for bravery in love.

The people in this house, I felt, and I included myself, were like characters each from a different grim and gruesome fairy tale. None of us was in the same story. We were all grotesques, and self-riveted, but in separate narratives, and so our interactions seemed weird and richly meaningless, like the characters in a Tennessee Williams play, with their bursting unimportant, but spell-bindingly mad speeches.

Things between us were dissolving like an ice cub in a glass: the smaller it got, the faster it disappeared.

There seemed nothing so true as a yellow tree.

Make a list of all the lovers you've ever had. Warren Lasher Ed "Rubberhead" Catapano Charles Deats or Keats Alfonse Tuck it in your pocket. Leave it lying around, conspicuously. Somehow you lose it. Make "mislaid" jokes to yourself. Make another list.

One should never turn one's back on a vivid imagination.