Everything mattered and nothing did, and I was tired of trying to find out how both of those things were true. I was an itch that I'd scratched so hard I was bleeding. I had set out to do the impossible, whatever the impossible might be, only to find out that it was living with myself. Suicide became an expiration date, the day after which I no longer had to try.

Lunch." I said. "Immediately. I'm going to wither away to absolutely nothing. Then you'll be racked with guilt." "I doubt it.

The only thing was, she didn't really want to see the future. What she wanted was to see something no one else could see or would see, and maybe that was asking for more magic that was in the world.

We sat like that for a long while, and when we stood up, all my sad things were in boxes, and Beck was my father.

My parents had always been so careful with me, until the day they decided I needed to die.

He had a carrying, congressional sort of voice, the kind that sounded good saying things like Less of a tax burden on the middle class and Thank you for your donation and Honey, could you bring me my sweater with the duck on it?

And I told you before, I'll sell you any of the thoroughbreds.” “I didn't make any of those thoroughbreds. I didn't make them what they are.” “You made all of them what they are.” I don't look at him. “None of them made me who I am.