I have always wanted to write a book that ended with the word 'mayonnaise.

The bees in my stomach are dead and getting used to it.

All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.

There was something dead in my heart. I tried to figure out what it was by the strength of the smell. I knew that it was not a lion or a sheep or a dog. Using logical deduction, I came to the conclusion that it was a mouse. I had a dead mouse in my heart.

Elizabeth's voice had a door in it. When you opened that door you found another door, and that door opened yet another door. All the doors were nice and led out of her.

I feel as if I am an ad for the sale of a haunted house: 18 rooms $37,000 I’m yours ghosts and all.

Im haunted a little this evening by feelings that have no vocabulary and events that should be explained in dimensions of lint rather than words. Ive been examining half-scraps of my childhood. They are pieces of distant life that have no form or meaning. They are things that just happened like lint.