We Can’t Always Tell The Whole Story

I Have The Belief In Boldness. What I Generally Lack Is The Boldness Itself. Because Boldness Doesn't Feel Bold. It Feels Scared Not Brave.

What Could Be Lonelier Than Trying To Communicate?

When We Were Arguing On My Twenty-fourth Birthday, She Left The Kitchen, Came Back With A Pistol, And Fired It At Me Five Times From Right Across The Table. But She Missed. It Wasn't My Life She Was After. It Was More. She Wanted To Eat My Heart And Be Lost In The Desert With What She'd Done, She Wanted To Fall On Her Knees And Give Birth From It, She Wanted To Hurt Me As Only A Child Can Be Hurt By Its Mother.

Will You Believe Me When I Tell You There Was Kindness In His Heart? His Left Hand Didn't Know What His Right Hand Was Doing. It Was Only That Certain Important Connections Had Been Burned Through. If I Opened Up Your Head And Ran A Hot Soldering Iron Around In Your Brain, I Might Turn You Into Someone Like That.

All His Life Robert Grainier Would Remember Vividly The Burned Valley At Sundown, The Most Dreamlike Business He’d Ever Witnessed Waking—the Brilliant Pastels Of The Last Light Overhead, Some Clouds High And White, Catching Daylight From Beyond The Valley, Others Ribbed And Gray And Pink, The Lowest Of Them Rubbing The Peaks Of Bussard And Queen Mountains; And Beneath This Wondrous Sky The Black Valley, Utterly Still, The Train Moving Through It Making A Great Noise But Unable To Wake This Dead World.