The Further In You Go, The Bigger

First, She Wanted To Taste The Sweat That Shone On His Throat And Fragile Clavicle; Then He Chose To Undo The Tails Of Her Shirt, That She Had Tied Up Beneath Her Breasts; Then, But Then Impatient They Forgot About Taking Turns And Quarreled Silently, Eagerly Over Each Other, Like Pirates Dividing Treasure Long Sought, Long Imagined, Long Withheld.

'love Is A Myth,' Grandfather Trout Said. 'like Summer.' 'what?' 'in Winter,' Grandfather Trout Said, 'summer Is A Myth. A Report, A Rumor. Not To Be Believed In. Get It? Love Is A Myth. So Is Summer.'

Learning To Decipher Words Had Only Added To The Pleasures Of Holding Spines And Turning Pages, Measuring The Journey To The End With A Thumb-riffle, Poring Over Frontispieces. Books! Opening With A Crackle Of Old Glue, Releasing Perfume; Closing With A Solid Thump.

Seeing A Woman's Child Is Like Seeing A Woman Naked, In The Way It Changes How Her Face Looks To You, How Her Face Becomes Less The Whole Story.

Stories Last Longer: But Only By Becoming Only Stories.