I Didn't Read A Serious Book Until

Construed As Turf, Home Just Seems A Provisional Claim, A Designation You Make Upon A Place, Not One It Makes On You. A Certain Set Of Buildings, A Glimpsed, Smudged Window-view Across A Schoolyard, A Musty Aroma Sniffed Behind A Garage When You Were A Child, All Of Which Come Crowding In Upon Your Latter-day Senses -- Those Are Pungent Things And Vivid, Even Consoling. But To Me They Are Also Inert And Nostalgic And Unlikely To Connect You To The Real, To That Essence Art Can Sometimes Achieve, Which Is Permanence.

I Know You Can Dream Your Way Through An Otherwise Fine Life, And Never Wake Up, Which Is What I Almost Did.

If There's Another Thing That Sportswriting Teaches You, It Is That There Are No Transcendent Themes In Life. In All Cases Things Are Here And They're Over, And That Has To Be Enough.

Life's Passed Along To Us Empty. We Have To Make Up The Happiness Part.

I Realized I Loved You, And I Didn't Want To Be Married To Somebody I Didn't Love. I Wanted To Be Married To You. It Isn't All That Complicated.