Home is where you dance with others, and dancing is life.

Just the act of cooking made her feel better, because cooking was life.

I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12 - Jesus, did you?

He began to cry, not hysterically or screaming as people cry when concealed rage with tears, but with continuous sobs who has just discovered that he's alone and will be for long. He cried because safety and reason seemed to have left the world. Loneliness was a reality, but in this situation madness was also remotely a possibility.

It is the tale, not he who tells it.

The important question has nothing to do with whether the talk in your story is sacred or profane; the only question is how it rings on the page and in your ear. If you expect it to ring true, then you must talk yourself. Even more important, you must shut up and listen to others talk.

God pisses down the back of your neck every day but only drowns you once.