It's a feature of our age that if you write a work of fiction, everyone assumes that the people and events in it are disguised biography — but if you write your biography, it's equally assumed you're lying your head off.

Sons branch out, but one woman leads to another.

There is never only one, of anyone

He doesn't know which is worse, a past he can't regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly. Then there's the future. Sheer vertigo.

And yet it disturbs me to learn I have hurt someone unintentionally. I want all my hurts to be intentional.

Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations.

If he wants to be an asshole, it's a free country. Millions before him have made the same life choice.