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

I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.

The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.

Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.

But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.

I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.

If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.

She is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.

That’s the thing with handmade items. They still have the person’s mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone.

The most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.

We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.

Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.

I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.

It’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.

Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.

You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.

I trailed off.Patch leaned lazily against the counter. Dark hair flipped out from under his ball cap. A smile tugged at his mouth. My thoughts dissolved and just like that, a new thought broke the surface of my mind. I wanted to kiss him. Right now.

I’m always trying to show versatility. I’m juggling, and I’m flipping fire, and I’m chewing gum and rhyming at the same time… on a unicycle, while playing the drums.

It went from Bob Newhart to Flip Wilson to Bill Cosby to Richard Pryor to George Carlin to Cheech and Chong. I had all these records.

It is just flipping unbelievable. He is a mixture of Harry Houdini and a greased piglet. He is barely human in his elusiveness. Nailing Blair is like trying to pin jelly to a wall.

The flip side of the coin was that even good programmers and language designers tended to do terrible extensions when they were in the heat of programming, because design is something that is best done slowly and carefully.

Show up for your interview wearing flip flops.

At one point he took the robes he was wearing and just started flipping them up in the air, out of nowhere. And later, an actor said to him.

The flip side of suicide is that it leaves a lingering question in the minds of the people who survived. Its like a cancer thats metastasized. The suicide is the cancer and the metastasis is all these people saying, Why? Why? Why?