Even Among The Angels, There Is The

When I Was With Yoav, Everything In Me That Had Been Sitting Stood Up. He Had A Way Of Looking At Me With A Kind Of Unabashed Directness That Made Me Shiver. It's Something Amazing To Feel That For The First Time Someone Is Seeing You As You Really Are, Not As They Wish You, Or You Wish Yourself, To Be.

When You Are Young, You Think It's Going To Be Solved By Love. But It Never Is. Being Close -- As Close As You Can Get -- To Another Person Only Makes Clear That Impassable Distance Between You.' If Being In Love Only Made People More Lonely, Why Would Everyone Want It So Much?' Because Of The Illusion. You Fall In Love, It's Intoxicating, And For A Little While You Feel Like You've Actually Become One With The Other Person. Merged Souls And So On. You Think You'll Never Be Lonely Again.

What Is Literature, Really? Boiled Down To A Single Sentence, I'd Say It's This: An Endless Conversation About What It Means To Be Human. And To Read Literature Is To Engage In That Conversation.

I Forced Myself To Picture The Last Moments. The Penultimate Breath. A Final Sigh. And Yet. It Was Always Followed By Another.

I Do Realize That The Reader Needs Some Form Of Resolution. Sometimes I Think Of It Almost Like Writing A Musical Score Where Things Have To Harmonize And Certain Lines Have To Come To A Close.