The beauty of my work is that my sets cost nothing. That's what I love about being a writer of novels.

She let herself love me for three minutes. Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already know the answer. Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

Ed?" Ritchie says later. We're still standing in the water. "There's only one thing I want." "What's that, Ritchie?" His answer is simple. "To want.

No matter how many times she was told that she was loved, there was no recognition that the proof was in the abandonment.

Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

They were French, they were Jews, and they were you.

If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.