He was a guy who talked with commas, like a heavy novel. Over the phone anyway.

I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.

The challenge is to write about real things magically.

Courage is a strange thing: One can never be sure of it

She bent over me again. Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.

There are two kinds of truth; The truth that lights the way and the truth that warms the heart. The fist of these is science and the second is art.

As it is she will probably turn out to be one of these acid-faced virgins that sit behind little desks in public libraries and stamp dates in books.