What men call adventures usually consist of the stoical endurance of appalling daily misery.

By the time I was done with the car it looked worse than any typical Indian car that has been driven all its life on reservation roads, which they always say are like government promises - full of holes.

I did not choose solitude. Who would? It came on me like a kind of vocation, demanding an effort that married women can't picture.

my mind ran over scenes of Shesheeb seducing Margaret until I was a wagon dragged by the runaway horses of my jealousy.

There is no such thing as a complete lack of order, only a design so vast it appears unrepetitive up close.

I tried out the unfamiliar syllables. They fit. They cracked in my ears like a fist through ice.

We passed over in a sweep of sorrow that would persist into our small forever. We just keep going.