But, Like Ivy, We Grow Where There

And Why Had Deb's Last Boyfriend Dumped Her? I Dumped Him. Maybe You Didn't French-kiss Him Enough. I Promise You That Wasn't It. Tell Me How Many Times A Day You Kissed, And I'll Say If It Was Enough. Four Hundred. Not Enough.

Look At The Sky: That Is For You. Look At Each Person's Face As You Pass Them On The Street: Those Faces Are For You. And The Street Itself, And The Ground Under The Street, And The Ball Of Fire Underneath The Ground: All These Things Are For You.

She Never Inquired, But She Never Recoiled, Either. This Is A Quality That I Look For In A Person, Not Recoiling.

After I Had My Son I Looked Everywhere For A Book That Might Serve As Some Kind Of Mirror. I Bought So Many Silly Books. Now I See What The Problem Was: I Wanted A Book About Time-about Mortality. I Can't Think Of A Writer Who Is At Once So Experimentally Daring And So Rigorously Uncompromising As Sarah Manguso. Ongoingness Is An Incredibly Elegant, Wise Book, And I Loved It.

I'm Interested In What The Virtues Of All Those Things Are, Especially For The Kind Of Person Who's Made Their Own World That Revolves Around Them, Like Writers Do. It Seems Especially Precious.