I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.

I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.

... when he kissed her, she received the kiss without returning it, her eyes wide open, not afraid, not a virgin's eyes, just flat and uninvolved.

I cannot remember much, I cannot feel much. Maybe erasure is necessary. Maybe the human spirit defends itself as the body does, attacking infection, enveloping and destroying those malignancies that would otherwise consume us.

A place where your life exists before you live it, and where it goes afterwards.

I'm skimming across the surface of my own history, moving fast, riding the melt beneath the blades, doing loops and spins, and when I take a high leap into the dark and come down thirty years later, I realize it is as Tim trying to save Timmy's life with a story.

I guess we're really brothers, aren't we? Don't know what that means, except it means that some of the same things we remember.