A short story is a love affair, a novel is a marriage. A short story is a photograph; a novel is a film.

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

This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grew sarcastic.

If God Speaks Through Burning Bushes, Let's Burn Bush and Listen to What God Says.

Later I would come to believe that erotic ties were all a spell, a temporary psychosis, even a kind of violence, or at least they coexisted with these states.

Twenty-year-olds have a kind of emotional idealism about relationships and about the world that enables them to say, 'No, you lied to me. Goodbye.' When they see wickedness, they walk away.

Forgiveness lives alone and far off down the road, but bitterness and art are close, gossipy neighbors, sharing the same clothesline, hanging out their things, getting their laundry confused.