What Molds Us Is What Maims Us.

She Smiled Darkly And Shook Her Head. 'i'm Not Crazy. I'm Not. Of Course What Else Would A Crazy Person Claim? That's The Kafkaesque Genius Of It All. If You're Not Crazy But People Have Told The World You Are, Then All Your Protests To The Contrary Just Underscore Their Point. Do You See What I'm Saying?

We Were Supposed To Grow Old Together, Dolores. Have Kids. Take Walks Under Old Trees. I Wanted To Watch The Lines Etch Themselves Into Your Flesh And Know When Each And Every One Of Them Appeared. Die Together.

I Found That I Could Write Two Kinds Of Short Stories: I Could Write Very Absurd, Kind Of Surrealistic, Funny Stories; Or I Could Write Very Dark, Realistic - Hyper-realistic - Stories. I Was Never Happy With That, Because I Couldn't Meld The Two.

He Wanted To Ask Her What Sound A Heart Made When It Broke From Pleasure, When Just The Sight Of Someone Filled You The Way Food, Blood, And Air Never Could, When You Felt As If You'd Been Born For Only One Moment And This, For Whatever Reason, Was It.

The Loneliness Of Another Can Be Shocking When It Lays Itself Bare Without Warning.