It takes a lot of bad writing to get to a little good writing.

Those final weeks, spanning end of summer and the beginning of another autumn, are blurred in memory, perhaps because our understanding of each other had reached that sweet depth where two people communicate more often in silence than in words: an affectionate quietness replaces the tensions, the unrelaxed chatter and chasing about that produce a friendship’s more showy, more, in the surface sense, dramatic moments.

And since gin to artifice bears the same relation as tears to mascara, her attractions at once dissembled.

Half the people who snuff people, that's what they want: recognition. Get their picture in the paper.

The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.

There is no shame — having a dirty face — the shame comes when you keep it dirty.

Oh Jesus God we did belong to each other. He was mine.