I could bear the memory, but I could not bear the music that made the memory such a killing thing.
My mother raised me to be a writer.
Baseball fans love numbers. They love to swirl them around their mouths like Bordeaux wine.
Happiness is an accident of nature, a beautiful and flawless aberration.
Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.
A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.