“Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.”

I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.

This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.

It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.

That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.

Before she knew it was candles, did she think she’d done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips.

Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn’t love me – I felt the wash of her love every day.

But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think?

It was a fleeting statement, one I didn’t think she’d hold on to; after all, she had birthed us alone, diapered and fed us, helped us with homework, kissed and hugged us, poured her love into us.

And the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?

That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother’s palm and fingertips.

But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.

To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.

We’re all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there’s too much thought and not enough heart.

Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.

As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.

You can ruin anything if you focus at it.

Love stories can be wild and sad little unkempt tales energetic and alive the only thing worth living for reality.

Never stop smiling not even when you’re sad, someone might fall in love with your smile.

Our life is a time in which sadness and joy kiss each other at every moment.

We had no choice. Sadness was a dangerous as panthers and bears. the wilderness needs your whole attention.

May God protect me from gloomy saints.

My spirit is sad – I carry the tears of my ancestors.

I’ll empathize with your sad story and wish you could bear mine. – the weight of empathy.

One of the saddest things in the world is being unappreciated knowing that you are a fine piece of art.