The sky the sky- same as it always was.

You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of.

He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob." I say nothing. "He's a paragon schnitzophonic." "He's what?!" "Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. "You mean paranoid schizophrenic?" "Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.

They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.

We traveled for two weeks with a pickled hippo.

When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.

I just can't. I'm married. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.